University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


THE  PETER  AND  ROSELL  HARVEY 
MEMORIAL  FUND 


,cP 


CERES 


A   HARVEST  HOME  FESTIVAL, 


0THER  P0EMS,  ESSAYS,  ETC. 


MRS.  OLIYE  S.  ENGLAND 


SALEM,  OREGON  : 

THE  E.    M.    WAITE  PRINTING   COMPANY. 
1893. 


Gretna  Senior  C  ru%( 

606  SEVENTH  STREET 


Copyright,  1893, 
BY   THE  AUTHOR. 

All  rights  reserved. 


CONTENTS. 


THE  FESTIVAL  OF  CERES 11 

The  Indian  Woman 33 

June  and  Music 37 

Friendship  True 44 

Divided 46 

United 48 

The  Heart  of  My  Love 49 

Parti  ng 50 

Expectation 51 

Opportunity 53 

The  Violet's  Love 54 

The  End  Crowns  the  Work 55 

Baby  Hands 56 

Hartsease 58 

A  Song  of  the  Soul 59 

The  Out-Going  Ships 60 

A  Common  Theme — Home 62 

Imagination 63 

Christmas  Echoes 63 

The  Moon  and  Star 66 

Dedication — Unity  Church 67 

True  Baptism 68 

Aspiration 69 

A  Sonnet 70 

Adelia 70 

KNOWLEDGE 77 

ONLY  A  BABY 97 

THE  AESTHETIC..  ..101 


PREFACE. 


This  little  volume  is  strictly  an  Oregon  production. 
It  has  been  written,  printed  and  bound  in  Salem,  Oregon. 
If  it  should  attract  the  attention  of  a  few  readers,  they 
might  ask  :  "Well  what  of  it?"  But  so  they  might  of 
thousands  of  other  things  at  this  great  exhibition,  and  if 
through  dread  of  criticism,  exhibitors  had  failed  to  send 
things  here,  the  greatest  fair  the  world  has  ever  seen  world 
have  been  a  complete  failure.  This  volume  has  been  com- 
piled and  prepared  on  two  weeks'  notice,  only,  at  the 
solicitation  of  anauthor  friend,  Mrs.  F.  F.  Victor,  who  de- 
sired to  see  Oregon's  literary  productions  at  the  Columbian 
Exposition. 

The  poems  and  addresses,  which  are  here  collected 
together,  were  in  a  very  chaotic  state,  from  which  I  have 
hardly  had  time  to  rescue  them.  Whether  I  could  have 
done  better,  if  I  had  taken  more  time  for  preparation,  I  do 
not  know.  I  cherish  self-esteem  enough  to  think  I  could; 
but  I  am  well  aware  that  we  often  overrate  our  own  ability. 

The  Festival  of  Ceres,  is  published  at  the  suggestion  of 
Miss  Susan  B.  Hale,  the  sister  of  Edward  Everett  Hale. 
Edward  Everett  Hale,  in  an  address  in  the  Auditorium,  in 
Chicago,  said :  that  he  believed  every  person  in  that  vast 
audience  had  written  verses.  While  versifying  is  probably 
not  so  universal  as  the  illustrious  preacher  asserted,  yet  is 
more  common  than  the  general  public  believe.  It  is  like 


6  PREFACE. 

the  ailments  of  our  childhood,  a  disease  common  to  aU. 
Some  have  it  mildly,  while  with  some  it  goes  severely.  I 
am  one  of  the  latter. 

For  this  my  first  attempt  at  a  book,  I  hope  my  frinds  will 
have  charity.  If  one  does  not  depend  upon  literary  efforts 
for  a  livelihood,  there  can  be  but  two  other  things  to  fear — 
lack  of  experience,  and  lack  of  ability  to  write  something 
that  others  will  care  to  read.  It  is  more  than  probable  that 
this  little  book  will  be  gored  by  both  horns. 

But  I  am  resolved,  no  matter  what  fate  may  have  in  store 
for  it,  to  send  it  forth,  strong  in  the  conviction  that  it  is  a 
"plucky"  little  thing,  though  quiet  and  retiring  in  its  pre- 
tentious, and  if  it  merits  oblivion,  all  right.  We're  used  to 

it,  my  book  and  I. 

THE  AUTHOE. 


THE  FESTIVAL  OF  CE$ES. 


CHARACTERS. 


CERES,  Goddess  of  Heaven  and  Earth,  also  of  the  Harvest. 

(  March 
SPRING,  ]  April 

(May 

(  June 
SUMMER,  j  July 

(  August 

(  September 

AUTUMN,  •]  October 

(_  November 

(  December 

WINTER,  j  January 

(  February 


ACT  I. 

SLOW  MARCH  Music. 

Curtain  rises,  revealing  at  one  side  of  stage  the  altar  of  Ceres, 
a  little  distance  in  front  a  seat  or  throne.  Enter  priestess 
swinging  censer  from  which  rises  clouds  of  incense.  The 
priestess  is  followed  by  six  vestal  virgins,  who  are  slowly 
and  softly  chanting  hymn  to  Ceres  (tune  Lord's  Prayer). 

Chant  : 

We  call  upon  the  great  Ceres,  in  song  we  call.     We  ask 
thy  blessing  on  the  harvest.     We  praise  thee,  thou  giver  of 
the  oats,  of  wheat,  of  all  the  golden  grain  ;  of  corn,  of  wine, 
and  for  all  the  blessings  thou  dost  bestow.      We  burn  in- 
cense on  thy  altar  that  thou  mayest  ever  bless  the  earth. 
Let  the  light  of  thy  countenance  shine  upon  us.      In  the 
splendor  of  thy  graciousness,  coine.     Bless  the  earth  and 
the  fullness  thereof,  Giver  of  the  Harvest  Home. 
As  they  chant  they  range  themselves,  three  on  each   side   of 
altar  while  priestess  pours  incense  on  altar.      Enter  Ceres, 
standing  on  car  to  which  winged  dragons  are  attached  seem- 
ing to  draw  it.      As  scene  parts  and  Ceres  enters,  vestals 
fall  upon  their  faces.     Ceres  steps  from  car,  waves  burning 
torch  which  she  holds  in  right  hand,  over  vestals,  saying, 
"Arise."    She  then  pauses  before  altar,  on  step  of  throne. 


12  CERES. 

Ceres  : 

From  the  bright  home  of  the  immortal  gods  I  come  to 
celebrate  rny  festival  of  harvest  home.  Come  forth!  Come 
forth !  O  powerful  servants  of  my  work  ;  I  would  know 
what  offerings  ye  bring  to  the  fullness  of  the  year.  Come, 
thou  first  and  fairest,  gentle  Ostera,  angel  of  Spring. 
Come,  with  thy  attendant  months,  thy  offerings  bring. 

Enter  Ostera. 
Ostera  .• 

I  am  Ostera,  the  angel  of  spring ; 

I  call  !  resurrection  to  all  things  I  bring  : 

The  Easter  awakening  from  Winter's  cold  breath  ; 

The  sweet,  tender  buds  I  rescue  from  death. 

Midway  'twixt  the  Winter  and  Summer  I  stand 

And  bring  you  an  offering  of  each  in  my  hand. 

Come,  March,  son  of  Mars,  with  the  winds  in  thy  train, 

Thy  off 'ring  seems  cruel,  but  is  not  in  vain. 

March  (  Mars  should  be  dressed  in  long  black  robes,  and  as  Jw 
sings  should  wave  robes )  : 

Blow,  ye  wild  winds,  blow,  blow,  blow. 

Yet  Winter  retreats  wherever  I  go. 

But  after  me  cometh  with  sunshine  and  tears, 

Aphrodite,  coquetting  with  hopes  and  with  fears. 

Enter  April  as  Venus  (March  addresses  her}. 

Fair  April,  how  fickle,  inconstant  thou  art. 

Of  coquetry  full.     Ah,  hast  thou  no  heart ! 

Yet  something  so  winsome,  so  bright  in  thy  smile, 

Like  laughter  and  tears  on  the  face  of  a  child. 

Like  sunbeams,  like  raindrops,  thy  clouds  come  and  go. 

Shall  I  trust  thee,  fair  April!     Depend  on  thee?      No. 


CERES.  13 

April  : 

But  know  that  I  open  the  buds  and  the  flowers ; 
Delight  with  my  sunshine,  impearl  with  my  showers; 
I  bring  you  the  birds  whose  soft  downy  wings 
Gleam  bright  through  the  forests  as  sweetly  they  sing. 
I  am  Aphrodite,  as  Venus  best  known  ; 
Born  of  the  ocean's  salt  spray  and  white  foam. 
To  island  of  Cyprus  in  seashell  of  green, 
Was  wafted  at  birth  bright  April's  fair  queen  ; 
I  landed,  and  lo  !  on  that  lovely  green  isle 
The  flowers  burst  forth,  the  Spring's  fairest  smite. 

Spring  : 

Well,  April,  thou'rt  welcome,  if  sad  or  if  gay, 
E'en  tho'  mingling   March  clouds  with  the  sunshine  of 
May. 

Enter  May  (  Spring  addressing  her}. 

My  beautiful   May,  what   bringest  thou   to   the   great 
Ceres,  goddess  of  the  earth  ? 

May: 

I,  the  Goddess  Maia,  bring  you  pleasure  and  mirth,  and 
the  butterflies  and  bees,  and  also  many  flowers.  The  but 
terflies  have  ever  been  the  emblems  of  freed  souls,  by 
Psyche  sent  to  adorn  thy  festival.  The  bees  are  emblem- 
atical of  industry,  that  by  labor  gathereth  the  sweets  from 
the  flowers  that  bloom  along  the  paths  of  life.  Accept,  O 
Ceres,  these,  my  offerings,  and  I  would  that  most  graciously 
you  look  upon  my  festival,  for  there  pleasure  reigns 
supreme.  That  scene  of  mirth  and  beauty  now  behold  ! 
Scene  parts  revealing  May-pole  dance.  Curtain. 


14  CERES. 

ACT    II. 

Curtain  rises  to  martial  music.      Enter  Ceres,  waves  wand  of 
poppies. 


Come !    queenly  Summer,  delay  not ;   I  long  to  behold 
thy  resplendent  face. 

Enter  six  little  girls  singing  an  ode  to  summer,  also  bearing  gar- 
lands of  flowers.  As  they  cease  singing,  Herald  of  Sum- 
mer, little  girl  icith  beautiful  garlands  steps  forward, 


She  comes  with  music  and  garlands.  Already  her  spice- 
laden  breath  fills  the  air.  Already  her  zephyrs  blow  soft 
o'er  the  hills.  Summer,  in  all  her  glorious  beauty  is  on  the 
threshold. 

Miter  to  music,  Summer  passing  between  rows  of  girls  wtih 
garlands. 

Bummer  : 

I  come  from  the  land  where  the  sunshine  is  king  ; 
There  is  music  of  fountains,  bees  hum,  birds  sing ; 
There  are  lilies  and  roses,  and  golden-hued  flowers ; 
There  beauty  reposes  'neath  spice- laden  bowers. 
In  the  kingdom  of  Summer  we  are  happy  and  gay  ; 
'Tis  a  fair  land  of  beauty  where  Love  holdeth  sway. 
You  shall  hear  the  sweet  music  that  Summer  can  bring. 

Come,  Orpheus ;  Apollo,  thy  sweetest  strains  sing. 
Enter  Orpheus  and  Apollo  with  guitar  and  mandolin ;  enter  June 
as  Juno. 

And  here  is  sweet  Juno,  so  stately  and  fair, 
Go,  offer  to  Ceres  thy  tribute  most  rare. 


CERES.  15 

June  : 

Great  Ceres,  sister  goddess,  I  come  at  command, 
All  crowned  with  the  lillies  of  sweet  Summer-laud. 
My  fairies  are  dancing  e'en  now  in  the  light 
Of  the  great  silver  moon  that  is  shining  so  bright. 

Scene  opens,  fairies  dancing  around  fairy  queen,  seated  on 
throne. 

June  : 

Look  thou,  on  that  scene,  my  fairies  at  play  ; 
Lovely  the  offerings  I  bring  you  to-day. 

Ceres  : 

The  grace,  innocence  and  beauty  of  thy  offering  is  indeed 
beyond  compare,  and  such  scenes  are  well  pleasing  to  the 
Gods.     But  where  is  thy  sister  July  ? 
June  : 

Behold  she  comes  !     The  great  Goddess  of  Liberty;  the 
best  beloved  of  all  upon  earth. 

July  ( as  Goddess  of  Liberty)  : 

Most  gracious  deity,  I  shall  give  you  the  noblest  and  best. 
Judge  not  harshly  on  first  appearance,  I  know  that  thou 
art  wise  and  just,  and  so  fear  not  to  bring  to  thee  my  offer- 
ing. Earth  has  changed  much  in  all  the  intervening  years 
since  that  golden  age  when  the  great  gods  came,  and  walked, 
talked,  and  dwelt  among  men.  Thou  knowest  Jhave  always 
dwelt  upon  this  earth,  because  my  power  as  liberator  has 
ever  been  most  needed,  and  still  is  needed.  He  who  shall 
come  at  my  bidding  is  not  of  thy  race,  O,  goddess,  but  O, 
listen  to  his  plea,  for  to  him  and  his  countryman,  my  mouth 
is  most  sacred.  (She  calls.)  u  Brother  Jonathan,  come  !  " 


16  CERES. 

(Orchestra  strikes  up  Yankee  Doodle,  enter  Brother  Jonathan 
whistling  Yankee  Doodle.} 

Ceres,  (startled} : 

Brother  Jonathan!  "No  such  name  was  ever  known  to  the 
immortal  gods;  whence  comest  though,  who  art  thou! 

Brother  J.  (Looks  around,  then  places  foot  on  altar;  elbow  on 
knee;  addresses  Ceres,  who  is  much  agitated  at  desecration 
of  her  altar.  V 

Ceres,  jest  you  rest  easy;  I  know  what  I'm  abeout;  inebby 
I  haint  deoun  with  them  ar  immortal  gods,  and  mebby  1 
am.  (Straightens  up  for  speech.)  Dew  yeou  know  anything 
abeout  the  Fourth  of  July?  George  Washington?  E  pluri- 
bus  uniumf  Uncle  Sam,  the  American  eagle?  Of  course 
you  might  have  associated  with  the  Goddess  of  Liberty 
some,  as  she  is  your  kind  ;  but  there's  a  few  others  of  our 
old  fore- mothers  and  fore-fathers  shan't  be  slighted  ef  I  kin 
tell  their  story,  and  I  reckon  I  kin.  Pshaw,  Ceres!  Your 
edication  is  all  run  deoun  and  haint  worth  nothin'  ef  you 
don't  know  abeout  them.  I  might  hev  showed  you  the 
picter  of  George  Washington  as  he  was  took  as  a  mason. 
In  that  he  appears  at  his  best.  His  face  is  cam  and  serene. 
One  hand,  which  guided  the  Ship  of  State  safely  into  the 
port  of  National  Independence,  is  stretched  forth  in  bene- 
diction, and  the  other  holds  a  gavel,  which  is  as  near  like  a 
hatchet  as  it  can  be  made.  He  was  "took"  with  a  dish- 
apron  on  jist  to  please  Marthy,  (some  folks  think  his  apron 
means  something  about  masonry,  but  it  don't. )  It  is  to  show 
that  he  was  not  too  "stuck  up"  to  help  Marthy  wash  the 
dishes,  His  apron  does  seem  to  have  a  considerable  uv 
fringe,  and  tuckers  and  firills  on  it  but  they  all  mean  some- 


CKRKS.  17 

thing  good,  or  you  wouldn't  ketch  'em  on  him.  His  prin- 
ciples struck  deep ;  laid  holt  of  the  bed-rock,  went  clean 
down  to  the  underpinnin'  of  things.  When  he  was  a  little 
kid  his  pappy  bought  him  a  hatchet  to  split  kindlin'  wood 
with,  but  the  fust  thing  he  used  it  fur  was  to  chop  out  the 
underpinnin'  from  the  ash-hopper,  so  it  couldn't  leach  off 
no  lie.  Oh,  I  tell  you  he"  loved  the  truth.  The  same  day 
he  busted  a  hole  in  his  mother's  soap  kittle,  'cause  lie  biled 
down,  concentrated  lie,  he  couldn't  stand.  His  father  had  an 
English  cherry  tree,  growin'  out  by  the  piazzay,  and 
though  ({eorge  had  at  diffeeent  times  dresse'd  up  in  British 
regimentals  and  fanght  the  Injuns  when  they  tried  to  steal 
cherries,  yet  he  hated  that  tree.  So,  one  day  he  took  his 
hatchet  and  began  choppin'  it  down.  Every  blow  meant 
something:  First,  he  chopped  through  the  bark — which  was 
emblematical  of  the  bark  of  oppression  which  sort  of  hide- 
bound the  American  colonies  and  which  was  cut  assunder 
by  the  hatchet  of  George  Washington.  Every  blow  was 
a  blow  at  lies,  and  that  is  the  reason  there  is  so  much 
blow  about  American  citizens  now.  Little  did  George 
think  that  every  blow  of  his  hatchet  would  ring  all  around 
the  world,  and  echo  down  through  all  the  advancing  cen- 
turies, proclaiming  freedom.  But  it  has.  If  George  had 
not  cut  down  that  tree  American  politicians  might  never 
have  become  pure  and  truthful  as  they  are  now. 

O,  what  a  pity  George  could  not  have  been  in  the 
garden  of  Eden,  and  chopped  down  the  tree  of  knowledge, 
of  good  and  of  evil,  before  the  apples  were  ripe.  For  I 
know  those  apples  were  green,  and  sort  of  soured  on  our 
fore-parents,  Adam  and  Eve.  Anyhow,  if  George  had  been 
there  with  his  hatchet,  it  would  have  saved  the  rest  of 


18  CERK.S. 

us  from  a  heap  of  nonesense  and  a  lot  of  religious  colic. 
Well,  however,  the  eagle  sat  on  the  gable-end  of  the  smoke- 
house, singin'  Hail  Columbia  to  cheer  George  while  he 
made  the  chips  fly.  When  the  tree  fell  the  eagle  screamed 
out  at  him,  that  as  he  must  be  about  tuckered  out.  if  he 
would  attend  to  other  pressin'  matters,  she  would  attend  to 
the  hatch-it  hereafter,  as  it  was  more  in  her  line  of  business; 
and  she  did.  Nobody  could  shew  her  away  until  she  got 
ready  to  go,  either.  Finally,  she  took  that  tree  in  her 
tallons,  just  as  you  see  it  in  the  coat  of  arms,  and  flew  to 
her  eyrie  on  the  lonely,  beetling  crag  of  the  Rock  of  Inde- 
pendence, and  clawed  it  all  to  pieces  and  used  some  of  the 
pieces  to  build  into  her  nest.  O,  Ceres,  you  had  orto  seen  that 
old  bird's  nest !  It  was  the  most  outlandishest  nest  ever 
built  under  the  sun.  There  was  something  in  it  from  every 
clime,  and  she  made  some  of  them  climb  too  ;  hence  the 
solubrity  of  the  climate  (climb  it. ) 

In  that  nest  are  germs  from  Germany,  franchise  from 
France,  bells  from  Belgium,  hop-poles  and  polecats  from 
Poland,  chills  and  agur  from  Chili,  beaux  from  Bohemia, 
rushes  from  Russia,  switches  from  Switzerland,  sandwiches 
from  the  Sandwich  Islands,  china  asters  from  China,  pans 
from  Japan,  guinea  hens  from  Guinea,  hollers  from  Hol- 
land, Canada  thistles  from  Canada,  gum  arabic  from 
Arabia,  hungry  folks  from  Hungary,  taller  candles  from 
Greece,  Indians  from  India,  ideas  from  Idaho,  biscuits  from 
the  Bay  of  Biscay  and  turkey- feathers  from  Turkey.  When 
she  got  her  nest  all  done  she  named  it  E  Pluribm  Unum, 
flic  Semperatus  Alpaca  Holly  Hock,  cause  she  knew  it  was 
one  formed  of  many,  and  also  that  we  would  need  a  na- 
tional flower,  and  besides,  she  was  a  clever  old  bird  and 


CKKKS.  19 

understood  Latin  jist  as  well  as  any  language  under  the 
sun.  Of  course  the.  Eagle  made  a  little  mistake  to  disturb 
George  before  he  had  chopped  the  tree  down  root  and 
bra.nc.li,  but  the  best  of  us  make  mistakes.  History  tells  us 
that  that  cherry-tree  stump  "is  still  there"  and  sends  up  a 
few  shoots  occasionally.  On  this  account  Americans  might 
possibly  lie  once  in  a  while,  but  I  don't  think  so. 

Philosophers  tell  us  no  stream  can  rise  above  its  source. 
If  there  ever  was  a  pure  stream  started  in  a  straight  and 
narrer  source,  it  was  the  steam  of  national  honor  and  truth 
started  by  the  blows  of  the  hatchet  of  George  Washington, 
but  it  got  to  meanderin'  off  down  the  mountain  side,  and 
the  further  off  it  got,  the  worse  it  meandered.  Upon  this 
subject  you  should  muse,  Ceres,  and  muse  deeply. 

Ceres,  Fm  agoin'  to  tell  you  about  our  flag.  We  allers 
thought  some  of  you  old  goddesses  got  it  up,  in  heaven. 
Somebody  must  have  had  a  streaky  time  a  gittin'  it  up. 
There's  a  streak  of  red,  and  a  streak  of  white,  and  a  whole 
patch  of  blue.  The  white  and  blue  represent  the  truth  and 
purity  of  America's  politics  and  politicians.  The  red  is  the 
emblem  of  the  blood  shed  by  America's  heroes,  a  keepin' 
of  'em  pure.  But  I  don't  see  how  that  flag  pole  can  point 
without  a  blush  straight  up  to  that  heaven  from  whence 
came  the  true,  blue  ground-work  of  those  pure,  white,  free 
stars  until  American  women  are  allowed  to  help  the  Eagle 
and  the  Goddess  of  Liberty  hold  up  that  pole.  For  we  all 
know  that  the  afore-mentioned,  the  Goddess  and  the  Eagle, 
were  two  very  sensible  females,  who  were  right  on  hand  in 
the  start  to  help  George  with  this  Republic. 

After  the  Republic  wuz  got  up,  the  Eagle  heard   the 


20  CKRES. 

British  Lion  a  roarin',  and  she  flew  at  him  and  clawed  his 
eyes  out,  and  Yankee  Doodle  Dandy  got  drunk  on  tea  and 
they  flung  him  overboard  in  Boston  harbor,  but  he  jist 
swam  out  a  whistlin'  his  own  immortal  tune  ;  George  Wash- 
ington waded  the  Delaware,  with  the  snow  clean  up  to  his 
armpits,  and  the  ice  and  slush  a  runnin'  like  all  tarnation, 
and  the  same  night  the  old  Britishers  took  a  cold  which 
settled  into  a  steddy  rheuinatiz,  which  is  still  a  grindin' 
'em.  But  I'm  ahead  uv  my  story  and  sort  of  mixed  up  a 
little,  but  Ceres,  them's  facts  all  the  same. 

And  when  George's  father  found  the  tree  cut  down  he 
asked  George  if  he  done  it  with  his  little  sharp-aiged 
hatchet.  "You  won't  lick  me  if  I  tell  the  truth,  will  you,'' 
asked  George.  "I  don't  lick  for  nothin'  but  lies,"  yelled 
the  old  man.  Then  to  save  hisself  from  gettin'  licked  for 
cutMn' the  tree,  Georgia  said:  "Father,  I  did.  I  cannot 
tell  a  lie."  Of  course  George  wuzzent  to  blame  fur  tell  in' 
the  truth,  coz  history  says  he  couldn't  lie.  Then  his  pappy 
embraced  him,  and  they  mingled  their  tears  on  the  same 
baudannar  handkercher  ( that  is  to  say  the  old  man  cried 
and  wiped  Georgie's  nose ). 

The  war  of  the  Revolution  broke  loose — the  war  of  1812 
wuz  a  brewin' — the  war  of  the  Rebellion  got  ripe — the 
Goddess  of  Liberty  ragged  out  in  red,  white  and  blue  and 
flirted  a  little  with  Uncle  Sam.  Yankee  Doodle  gave  three 
whoopin'  cheers  fur  E  Pluribus  Unum,  Sic  Semperaius 
Alpaca  Holly  Hock,  and  we  became  a  free  and  glorious 
Republic  with  fire-crackers  ripe  at  all  seasons  of  the  year, 
and  the  Eagle  done  the  yellin'. 

Now,  Ceres,  I'll  be  plain  with  you,  if  we're  not  daown 


CERES.  21 

on  yeour  list  of  them  old  gods,  I  shall  allers  think  we'd  ort 
to  be. 

Ceres,  much  agitated,  arises  : 

Brother  Jonathan,  thy  noble  countryman,  that  bright 
hero,  George  Washington's  name  shall  forevermore  be 
placed  upon  the  scroll  of  fame,  and  high  upon  Olympus' 
shining  crest  shall  thy  country's  deeds  be  sung  by  heavenly 
choirs.  The  flag  of  thy  native  land  shall  evermore  unfurl  its 
shining  folds  and  be  caressed  by  every  breeze  that  blows, 
and  kissed  by  the  sunshine's  golden  flame.  Thy  glorious 
Eagle  shall  now,  and  always  conquering  bear  aloft  thy 
glorious  coat  of  arms  in  triumph.  And  listen!  Brother 
Jonathan,  thine  own  illustrious  name  shall  stand  first  upon 
the  list  of  the  immortal  gods  ! ! 
Brother  Jonathan  rushes  up  to  Ceres,  grasps  her  hand,  saying : 

Put  it  there,  pard. 

Goddess  of  Liberty  pats  Brother  Jonathan  on  the  back.  Brother 
Jonathan  then  links  Goddess  of  Liberty's  arm  in  his  own, 
both  exit,  he  whistling  Yankee  Doodle. 

Ceres  to  Summer : 

Summer,  call  forth  thy  other  month,  thy  glorious  king. 

Summer : 

Great  August,  come  ! 

Enter  August,  as  Helios,  God  of  the  Sun. 
August : 

Summer,  my  queen,  I  am  here  at  thy  bidding,  I,  the 
firemonth,  Great  Helios,  God  of  the  Sun.  From  this  cup  of 
gold  I  pour  the  sunshine  over  all  the  earth.  He  carries 


22  CERES. 

gold  cup  in  which  gold  thread  of  curled  wire  are  concealed, 
which,  when  he  turns  cup  upside  down,  fall  to  the  stage.  My 
fierce  beams  ripen  fruit  and  grain.  'Tis  my  offering — may 
it  prove  well  pleasing  in  thy  sight.  I  also  bring  you  the 
music  of  harvesters  singing  as  they  reap  the  yellow  grain. 

Scene  opens  revealing  harvest  scene. 


ACT    III. 

Ceres  : 

Summer  has  gone  ;  but  where  is  bounteous  Autumn,  mj' 
beautiful,  my  favorite  season.  I  would  behold  thy  face, 
best  beloved,  come !  Great  Ceres  commands ! 

Enter  Autumn,  dressed  in  scarlet  : 

I  have  come  !     I  am  Autumn  !     Cast  off  the  dead  roses  ! 

I  am  decked  in  the  robes  that  are  fairer  than  all, 
For  nature  is  brightest  before  she  reposes, 

E'er  the  wintry  winds  come,  or  the  early  snows  fall. 

I  have  come  in  the  granduer  of  flame  and  of  glory, 
To  fulfill  all  the  promise  of  Summer  and  Spring, 

E'er  my  red  banners  fade;  e'er  my  crown  shall  turn  hoary; 
Accept  ye  the  fruitage  and  blessings  I  bring. 

Come  !  Come  in  thy  glory,  immortal  September, 
Bring  gold  of  the  harvest  in  thy  gen'rous  hand, 

The  gifts  that  ye  bring,  shall  all  men  remember, 
As  far  the  most  precious  brought  forth  in  the  land. 


CERES.  23 

fhter  /September,  bearing  sheaves  of  grain  which  she  lays  at 
Ceres1  feet. 

September  : 

Our  country  is  blest,  'tis  the  greatest  and  grandest — 

What  more  would  we  ask,  if  we  could,  of  the  gods  f 
Kind  nature  is  lavish  of  her  choicest  blessings, 

Which  springeth  like  magic  from  Oregon's  sod. 
The  most  brilliant  gems  on  her  bosom  reposes, 

For  her  mines  with  their  riches  begin  to  unfold; 
Her  plains,  and  her  mountains,  her  rivers  and  forests; 

Her  cereals  abounding  all  freighted  with  gold. 

Autumn  : 

October,  come  forth  !  thy  sister  is  waiting, 

O,  bring  us  rich  draughts  of  life's  purple  wine, 
Bring  banners  of  Autumn,  I  long  to  behold  them; 

Bring  fruits  that  are  luscious — bring  all  that  is  mine. 

October,  bearing  fruits : 
Great  Autumn,  I  come!  all  clothed  in  the  splendor 

That  Nature  in  beauty  now  weaves  'round  the  year: 
Here  are  fruits  of  the  vine,  I  bring  you  so  luscious, 

'Tis  Nature's  last  tribute  e'er  Winter  appear. 
From  my  brows,  when  my  garland  of  spendor  shall  wither, 

It  shall  melt  into  beauty  that  Winter  shall  give. 
My  leaves  that  are  scarlet,  in  cold  winds  now  quiver, 

Yet  in  new  forms  of  being  and  wonder  shall  live; 
In  the  buds  of  the  spring-time,  in  garlands  of  summer, 

Eternal  progression  !  but  never  decay. 
In  grain  that  shall  ripen,  in  fruits  growing  mellow, 

My  bright  forms  are  changing  forever  and  aye. 


24  CERES. 

I  bring  golden  dreams  of  soft  Indian  summer, 
That  come  to  this  earth  at  the  change  of  the  year — 

And  e'en  gods  may  dream !     Behold!    O  great  Ceres  ! 
Bright  vision,  of  beauty  all-glorious,  appear! 

She  claps  her  hands,  scene  opens,  reveals  statuary  and  posing 
lasting  several  moments.  This  can  be  made  exceedingly 
beautiful  by  well-drilled  performers  and  soft,  low,  sweet 
music.  Scenes  close  one  moment  here,  rises  immediately. 

Autumn : 
Come  forth !    November,  November. 

Enter  November. 

I  come  from  the  shade,  November,  November, 
I  come,  and  red  Autumn's  best  tribute  I  bring. 

'Tis  hearts  that  are  full  of  blessed  thanksgiving 
For  all  that  the  year  in  its  fullness  doth  bring. 

Scene  parts  revealnig  Thanksgiving  dinner  scene. 

November : 

See !  Beloved  Goddess,  Earth's  children  are  happy, 
behold  feasting  and  mirth.  The  true  thanksgiving  comes 
from  happy  hearts ;  happy  in  the  knowledge  that  this  is 
the  golden  year  of  Oregon's  prosperity. 


ACT    IV. 

Ceres  : 

I  now  call  fair,  cold  Winter.      Come  Winter,  that  the 
circle  of  the  year  may  be  complete.      Come,  from  the  dis- 


CKKI->  25 

taut  land  of  the  midnight  sun!  Come,  on  the  rosy  chariot 
of  the  flaming  Aurora  Boretilis!  May  the  freezing  north- 
wind  speed  tliee  o'er  thy  icy  road  ! 

fhtter  Queen  of  Winter,  accompanied  by  Jack  Frost,  music  of 
sleigh-bells. 

Winter  : 
Great  goddess,  this  servant  that  cometh  with  me, 

Cold,  cold  December,  not  welcome  is  he, 
For  the  life-force  of  Nature  is  locked  by  his  key. 

He  locks  in  a  prison  each  bud,  leaf  and  flower, 
Sends  blight,  desolation  from  his  icy  tower. 

In  my  home,  in  the  far- frozen  caves  of  the  north, 
Weave  I  garments  of  snow,  make  jewels  of  frost. 

Jack  Frost  is  my  servant  o'er  mountains  and  lea, 
He  spreads  my  fair  garments,  so  lovely  to  see. 

Jack  -Frost,  as  December  : 

When  brightly  is  burning  the  fire  on  the  hearth, 
A  delicate  lace- work  I  weave  o'er  the  earth; 
Though  locking  in  prisons  the  flowers  of  Spring, 
More  beautiful  far  are  the  blossoms  I  bring, 
They  are  born  of  the  breath  of  the  Angel  of  Snow, 
I  scatter  them,  scatter  them,  wherever  I  go. 
I  bind  the  wild  rivers  with  a  glittering  chain — 
Until  Spring  in  her  tenderness  free's  them  again. 

Winter  : 

By  my  crown  with  its  jewels — my  magical  wand— 
The  forces  of  Nature  are  safe  in  his  hand, 
For  the  mystery  of  life,  whatever  it  be, 
Lives  safe  in  the  power  invested  in  me. 


26  CERES. 

December : 

Now  the  festival  greatest  of  all  on  the  earth, 
I  bring  as  my  offering — judge  thou  of  its  worth. 

(Scene  part,  reveals  Christmas  scene. ) 
Ceres  : 
Why,  'tis  the  old  Saturnalia, 

December : 

Renewing  each  year, 

Under  new  name  of  Chistmas,  enjoyments  dear. 

Winter  : 

I  would  call  another  servant,  Janus  or  January,  to  whom 
is  now  accorded  the  honor  of  being  the  first  month  in  the 
year. 

Ceres  : 

Janus  Bifrons?  Ah!  yes,  wave  thy  jeweled  wand. 
Summon  him  with  libations  of  rich  wine.  Let  incense 
burn  upon  my  altar.  I  would  that  he  should'st  honor  my 
festival.  Let  thy  high-priest  summon  him. 

Winter  signs  to  December  to  burn  incense,  and  pours  wine  over 
altar,  saying: 

Come,  Janus,  thou  keeper  of  the  eternal  doors  of  earth 
and  heaven. 

Enter  Saturn,  or  Old  Father  Time,  as  Old  Tear. 

Old  Tear: 

Stay  !  E'er  he  come,  I  must  pass  before  thy  altar.  I 
must  bid  farewell  and  follow  the  unnumbered  years  into 
that  far-off  past  of  which  I  so  soon  shall  become  a  part.  My 


CERES.  27 

work  is  ended.  I  have  been  a  faithful  servant.  Great 
Ceres,  judge  thou  my  work — all  these  that  have  passed 
before  thee  are  but  parts  of  my  work.  Come,  December, 
thou  goest  with  me.  I  go,  farewell,  farewell. 

All  on  stage  solemnly  reply,  "Farewell,  farewell." 

Enter  January  as  Janus  Bifrons,  with  two  masks  or  faces  on, 
leading  by  hand  little  New  Year. 

Janus  : 

I  come  at  thy  bidding.  I  that  openeth  and  shutteth  the 
doors  of  the  year,  and  also  the  everlasting  doors  of  high 
heaven  where  Great  Jupiter  sits  enthroned  in  awful 
majesty.  My  face  looks  forth  with  compassion  on  the 
retreating  year,  who  with  bowed  form  and  drooping  head 
recedes  forever  from  mortal  sight.  But  I  bring  to  you,  O 
stately  Goddess,  the  infant  New  Year.  I  have  closed  the 
door  upon  the  Old  Year  and  his  finished  work.  I  have 
opened  for  the  New,  whose  work  begins.  O  may  all  the 
gods  propitious  be  to  him,  and  bounteous  giver  of  earth's 
most  precious  things,  may  thy  blessing  be  upon  him  that 
he  may  faithful  prove. 

Ceres  takes  him  by  the  hand  and  leaving  wand  saySj  "'  Tis  done." 

Winter: 

I  have  yet  another  servant  who  waits  without  to  bring 
his  tribute  to  thy  shrine.  February,  come  ! 

February  as  St.  Valentine. 
February  : 

What  remains  for  me  to  offer,  where  all  have  brought 
such  bounteous  gifts  to  thee,  O,  Ceres,  Goddess  of  the  Golden 


28  CERES. 

Harvest  time;  and  of  all  the  earth,  all,  all  is  thine  !  We 
do  but  render  to  thee  thine  own  again.  The  feast  of  Purity 
which  is  the  event  which  gave  to  me  my  name,  is  but 
founded  on  a  sacred  feast  which,  as  thon  knowest  well,  in 
the  ages  gone,  was  sacred  unto  thee.  But  I,  Saint  Valen- 
tine, have  dedicated  another  day,  and  this  to  Love.  Come, 
sweet  Love ;  bring  pretty  Cupids  in,  and  as  thy  songs  in- 
spire men's  souls,  and  captivate  all  hearts,  those  pretty 
boys  of  thine  may  send  some  arrows  home. 

Enter  Love  with  cupids  holding  up  her  train ;  she  sings  while 
cupids  pose  with  drawn  bows.  As  the  song  is  finished  enter 
Brother  Jonathan. 

Brother  Jonathan : 

Look  a  here  now,  February,  you  and  Ceres,  and  all  you 
gods  and  goddesses,  you'd  better  not  forget  that  part  of 
February  belongs  to  George  Washington.  I  recon  he  got 
in  about  the  22ud.  Git  eout,  now;  yeour  kind  haint  to 
be  talked  abeout  the  same  day  as  his'u.  And  he,  the 
father  of  this  'ere  American  Republic — and  a  full  partner 
of  the  bald  headed  eagle. 

Music  starts  up  HaU  Columbia;  Ceres  takes  arm  of  Brother 
J.  They  lead  procession;  all  performers  come  out  two  by 
two;  grand  march.  CURTAIN. 


POEMS. 


POEMS. 


THE    INDIAN    WOMAN. 

[  The  following  poem  was  written  at  Newport,  Yaquina  Bay, 
Oregon,  on  the  occasion  of  the  death  of  an  Indian  Woman  named 
Annette,  who  was  said  to  be  the  most  beautiful  woman  on  the 
reservation.  She  was  much  more  refined  and  better  educated 
than  her  companions.  Her  husband,  whom  she  tenderly  loved 
had  deserted  her,  and  by  many  was  thought  to  be  her  murderer. 
She  had  become  very  melancholly  and  would  wander  off  alone 
by  the  sea-shore  at  night,  after  her  work  for  the  day  was  done. 
At  the  time  of  her  death  she  was  employed  at  the  Ocean  House,  a 
summer  resort  of  Newport.  There  were  many  pleasure  seekers 
at  the  hotel  at  the  time,  and  two  days  after  the  sad  occurrence,  at 
an  amateur  entertainment,  (the  first  entertainment  ever  given  at 
Newport)  given  in  the  parlors  of  the  Ocean  House,  this  poem  was 
read  by  its  author.  Annetta  was  burried  at  the  Siletz  Reserva- 
tion, eight  miles  distant  from  Newport.] 

Found  dead  !  an  Indian  woman, 

Found  lying  on  the  sand  ; 
A  dark -haired  Indian  woman  ; 

Yes,  murdered  on  the  strand  ! 

A  red  wound  on  her  dusky  throat, 

The  seaweed  in  her  hair, 
The  moonbeams  shining  on  her  face, 

Which  once  was  wondrous  fair. 

Her  soft  eyes  closed  forevermore 
On  scenes  of  life  and  love, 


Gretna  Senior  Center 

606  SEVENTH  STREET 
GRETNA,  LA     70051 


34  POEMS. 

Shall  wake  in  realms  of  beauty,  in 
That  Eden-land  above. 

Her  graceful  form  but  yesterday 

Was  bounding  o'er  the  strand- 
To-day  all  cold  and  silent  is, 
A  clod  upon  the  sand. 

But  she  an  Indian  outcast  was, 
What  careth  you  and  me  ! 

The  fate,  this  dark  woman,  dead  ! 
So  near  the  rippling  sea. 

Not  e'en  one  peal  of  laughter  gay 
Of  strollers  on  the  shore, 

Shall  for  one  moment  be  less  glad, 
Though  she  come  nevermore. 

Her  life  could  not  have  gladsome  been  ; 

Her  death  can't  help  but  be 
Much  better  than  her  life  hath  prov'd, 

While  dwelling  by  the  sea. 

For  she  was  but  a  lowly  one, 

And  all  she  had  was  life. 
But  once  she  had  a  lover  true — 

Though  now  deserted  wife. 

The  human  heart  is  human  still — 
With  wild  sweet  wayward  love — 

And  but  an  Indian  woman,  may 
Its  deepest  passions  prove. 


POEMS.  35 

For  love  a  thing  eternal  is — 

And  even  her  dark  breast 
Had  felt  its  deepest  meaning  thrill, 

And  known  its  wild  unrest. 

She  said  her  heart  was  sorrowful, 

She  longed  to  be  at  peace, 
She  strayed  down  by  the  waters  wild, 

Whose  moanings  never  cease. 

The  moon  rose  o'er  the  mountains  high  ; 

She  saw  the  golden  horn, 
Against  the  purple  sky  of  night, 

Where  shining  stars  are  born. 

A  prayer  went  forth  from  dusky  lips, 

To  him  who  rules  above, 
That  she  might  cast  the  burden  off, 

Of  unrequited  love. 

A  cloud  sailed  o'er  the  moon's  fair  face, 

The  waves  rose  white  and  high  ; 
A  shriek  rung  out  upon  the  night ! 

A  woman's  wild  death  cry. 


And  so  at  morn  they  found  her,  dead ! 

So  near  the  restless  sea — 
But  only  an  Indian  outcast  gone ; 

What's  that  to  you  and  me. 

The  waves  dash  wildly  on  the  shore ; 
They  wash  the  blood-stained  sands — 


36  POEMS. 

Salt  waves  that  leave  the  sands  all  clean, 
But  not  the  murd'rer's  hands. 

Ah  !  waves,  sad  waves,  that  moan  and  sigh, 

The  truth  you  cannot  tell  ; 
You  whispor  of  that  tragedy, 

But  keep  the  secret  well. 

Ah !  does  the  God  of  justice  sleep  ? 

Or  shall  his  power  reach — 
Requite  that  humble  woman  there, 

Found  murdered  on  the  beach  ! 

Will  not  the  law,  with  mighty  arm, 
Her  dreadful  wrong  requite  ? 

Will  justice  strive  the  same  for  her 
As  if  her  face  were  white ! 


Well,  let  her  comrades  take  her  to 

The  distant  lonely  grave; 
Beyond  the  mountains  dark  and  high, 

Beyond  the  rolling  wave. 

They  started  on  their  journey,  as 

The  moon  rose  o'er  the  sea*— 
Whille  o'er  the  hills  and  valley's  deep, 

They  bore  her  tenderly. 

The  wild  waves  thundered  on  the  shore, 

While  o'er  the  waters  wide, 
The  winds  were  sobbing  to  the  stars, 

And  far  out  o'er  the  tide. 

*These  Indians  would  not  touch  the  body  of  a  murdered  person  until  the  moon  rose. 


POEMS.  37 

All  nature  seemed  to  grieve  for  her, 

For  she  was  Nature's  child, 
A  flower  that  in  the  forest  bloomed— 

Some  fairest  flowers  are  wild. 

God's  flowers  of  the  forest  sweet, 

Whose  perfumes  are  so  rare 
As  those  that  fills  the  costliest  vase, 

Or  deck  the  sunniest  hair. 

But  now  with  death  we  leave  her  clay, 

Within  that  spirit-land 
The  soul  hath  passed  of  her  we  mourn, 
Found  murdered  on  the  strand. 


JUNE    AND    MUSIC. 

[A  poem  delivered  before  the  Musical  Alumni    of  Willamette 
University,  June   10,  1891.] 

The  poet  license  always  hath 
To  sing  his  songs  in  any  key, 
Make  use  of  fact  and  myth,  to  make 
His  poem  harmonize  with  ease ; 
For  fact  and  myth,  together,  make 
Beliefs  of  men  in  every  state. 
Together,  best  they  please. 

And  now,  kind  friends,  we  ask  of  you 

Attention,  while  we  sing 

A  song  of  June  and  Music's  power. 

And  though  new  thoughts  we  may  not  bring, 


38  POEMS. 

'Twill  help  to  while  away  one  hour — 
Some  good  you  may  receive — 
Although  this  story  not  believe. 

Long,  long  ago,  (we  give  no  dates) 

But  when  this  earth  was  younger  far, 

E'er  Music's  instruments  were  made 

As  now,  or  so  well  played, 

E'er  Art  such  instruments  had  strung  ; 

But  Nature's  voices — sweeter  far — 

Forever  fill'd  the  earth  with  sound 

Of  melody  divine  ;  whose  instruments, 

So  cunningly  devised,  have  ever  been 

The  highest  form  of  minstrelsy. 

Were  listened  to,  with  reverence  more, 

Than  since  hath  Art  attained  such  power. 

In  that  age  long  since  pass'd  away, 
Bright  June  in  bower  of  roses  rare, 
All  crowned  with  lilies  sweet  and  fair, 
And  beautiful  beyond  compare, 
The  Queen  of  Summer  reigned. 

Her  lovely  nymphs  at  her  command, 
Brought  flowers  sweet,  from  every  land, 
And  shells  and  pearls  from  ocean's  strand, 
Her  favor  thus  to  gain.     Ofr- 
The  West  Wind  came  froin^the  lea, 
And  told  ner  tales  so  sweet ; 
He  told  of  islands  in  the  seas, 
Of  Gardens  of  Hesperides, 
Her  golden  apples  on  the  trees, 


POEMS.  39 

Of  spray  that  dashes  wild  and  free 
Where  winds  and  waters  meet. 

She  did  not  smile  —  and  June  can  frown, 

But  said,  "  One  blessing  yet  I  miss, 

Not  precious  things  from  country,  town, 

Not  gold  or  germs  in  earth  far  down, 

Not  glist'ning  snows  from  Mount  Hood's  crown, 

Not  fragrant  breath  from  islands  far, 

Nor  shining  light  from  distant  star, 

Can  add  unto  my  bliss.'' 

Apollo  comes  with  tuneful  lyre, 

All  strung  with  strands  of  golden  hair, 

While  with  him  all  the  muses  sing, 

And  at  his  call,  from  wooded  hills 

Come  fays  and  fairies  with  a  will, 

And  gnomes  and  sprites  from  reedy  rills, 

And  bright-hued  birds  their  sweet  notes  trill 

The  joy  and  praise  they  bring. 

Now  hearing  such  sweet  harmonies, 
The  fauns  and  satyrs  dance  with  ease, 
Sweet  zephyrs  sigh  all  through  the  trees, 
And  gladly  lend  their  softened  notes, 
As  sounds  Apollo's  witching  lyre. 
While  all  the  insects  softly  croon, 
And  murmuring  waters  in  attune 
Go  rippling  on  their  way. 
The  woodland  echoes  gently  blend, 
And  many  charms  to  music  lend. 
All  Nature's  voices  wild  and  gay, 


40  POEMS. 

Help  swell  the  merry  roundelay, 

'Til  every  tone  of  music  sweet, 

Now  makes  the  chorus  full,  complete, 

While  all  these  voices  in  attune, 

Have  but  one  theme,  the  praise  of  June. 

These  sentiments  they  sing  to  her  : 

u  We  hail  you,  Summer's  sovereign, 

The  Queen  of  Beauty  evermore. 

Around  your  feet  in  beauty  spring 

And  bloom  the  radiant  flowers, 

And  unto  you  their  incense  bring. 

Whene'er  shall  reign  the  mouth  of  June, 

With  perfect  days  and  laughing  hours, 

When  bird  and  bee,  on  downy  wings, 

And  all  bright  dreams  that  Summer  brings, 

Proclaim  thee  Queen  of  lovely  things  ; 

Who  scatterest  blessings  ev'ry  day, 

From  all  thy  rosy,  leafy  bowers, 

Does  earth  her  thankful  anthems  raise." 

Apollo's  hand  across  the  strings, 

With  yet  more  skillful  touch  he  brings; 

From  heaven  leaped  down  the  sacred  fire 

That  warms  the  heart  with  wild  desire 

That  music  only  brings  ; 

And  this  the  burden  of  his  song. 

Where  e'er  shall  reign  the  month  of  June, 
Shall  all  the  youth  throughout  the  land — 
Who  shall  the  intellect  expand — 
Be  crowned  with  honors  and  degrees  ; 
And,  all,  who  in  the  minds  of  youth 


POEMS.  41 

Instill  the  principles  of  truth, 
Shall  rest  from  labors ;  take  their  ease. 
Teachers  and  pupils,  free  from  care, 
Shall  seek  the  balmy  mountain  air ; 
The  ocean's  breath  inhale — the  balm 
Of  summer-time — in  rest  and  calm. 

But  greatest  gifts  that  we  can  bring 
Shall  Music  be  in  everything ; 
The  earth  be  all  attuned 
With  melody,  from  shore  to  shore. 

Fair  June,  then  took  her  lilly  wreath 
And  crowned  Apollo's  brow, 
And  said:  "Not  e'en  the  wealth  of  June, 
With  brilliant  flowers  and  sweet  perfume  ; 
With  halcyon  days  of  light  and  bloom, 
And  lang'rous  dreams  of  Summer-time; 
Would  e'er  be  sweet  without  the  charm 
Of  rest,  and  Music's  power."      ^    >^ 

All  through  the  ages  down  since  then, 
Hath  these  same  blessings  come  to  men 
In  June  commencement  songs  and  flowers  ; 
While  "sweet  young  graduates"  try  their  powers  ; 
Reunions  come,  and  then  farewell 
To  Alma  Mater,  'round  which  dwell 
The  mem'ries  sweet  that  future  years 
Cannot  obliterate. 

To  us  oft  comes  the  smiles  and  tears 
As  we  recall  June-days  gone  by, 
With  all  they  meant  to  happy  youth— 


42  POEMS. 

Just  starting  forth  to  try  life's  fate. 
And  as  the  years  doth  intervene, 
And  life's  events  come  in  between, 
Will  mem'ry,  ever  glancing  back, 
Be  view  the  scenes — the  faces  sweet — 
That  somehow  dimmer  grow ;  the  feet 
That  trod  these  halls,  and  left  no  trace. 
Whose  footsteps  echo  in  the  place 
Within  the  chambers  of  the  soul. 

And  like  these  youthful  ones  who  stand 

Upon  the  threshold  of  that  land, 

The  future  dimly  seen  5 

Like  fledgeling  bird  that  longs  and  waits 

To  spread  his  untried  wings ; 

We  long  for  heights  we  yet  shall  reach, 

And  feel  the  holiness  you  teach 

T     ^    ™      •  (J/VVMA- •; 

The  soul,  O,  Music,  sweet, 

And  dream  of  songs  we  yet  shall  sing 
When  by  our  better  angels  taught. 

These  aspirations  of  the  soul 

That  hath  desire  for  higher  goal. 

This  life  is  ever  incomplete, 

Yet  tones  of  music  strangely  sweet 

Is  ever  sounding  through  its  pain. 

Appeal  to  us,  and  not  in  vain, 

From  higher  source  than  creeds  of  men ; 

For  creeds  of  men  would  fetter  thought, 

And  cannot  satisfy  the  soul. 


POEMS.  43 

For  thought  an  angel  is  all  bright, 

That  cometh  from  the  world  of  light 

With  free  unfettered  wings, 

While  to  our  souls  this  truth  she  brings  : 

It  is  not  how  we  worship  Him, 

But  so  in  truth  we  find  our  God. 

And  oft  'tis  Music  doth  reveal 

God's  truth,  man's  mysteries  would  conceal. 

God  strikes  these  harps  with  unseen  hand, 

Yet  we  at  last  shall  understand. 

The  homesick  soul  this  music  hears — 
It  is  not  heard  with  mortal  ears — 
'Tis  sound  of  voices  wond'rous  dear, 
Of  those  gone  forth  so  fearlessly 
To  meet  the  sweet  deep  mystery 
In  realms  far,  silent,  yet  so  near. 

And  often,  when  the  evening  sky 
Unfurls  his  banners  golden  flame, 
Reveals  the  pathway  leading  high, 
And  fills  the  soul  with  prophecy 
Too  vast  and  deep  for  human  speech ; 
When  breath  of  June  fills  all  the  air 
With  incense  sweet,  beyond  compare, 
Then  does  the  spell  that  Music  brings, 
The  sacred  fire  from  heaven  that  came, 
Burn  in  the  heart  with  fervid  flame, 
Emotions  strange  like  billows  roll, 
By  turns  they  struggle  for  the  soul 
Its  mastery  to   attain. 


44  POEMS. 

Our  spirits  fill'd  with  sacred  thought. 
Shall  know  the  lesson  it  hath  taught 
Of  more  than  transitory  things. 
Thus  those  we  love  we  meet  again  ; 
For  ail  sweet  hopes  of  better  things 
Are  but  some  form  of  angel  wings 
That  wafts  the  soul  to  some  fair  height, 
Whence  flow  the  fountains  life  and  light. 
'Tis  thus  deep  wisdom  dries  all  tears  ; 
Dispels  our  doubts,  and  quiets  fears  ; 
And  leads  us  upward  to  the  light 
Eevealed  through  Music's  subtle  power. 


FRIENDSHIP    TRUE. 

I  gazed  upon  her  winsome  face 

Which  glowed  with  intense  feeling; 
How  I  admired  the  kindly  grace 

Her  tender  eyes  revealing ! 
I  knew  that  I  had  met  a  soul 

Who  read  aright  my  mission  ; 
I  knew  that  to  us  both  had   come 

All  friendship's  full  fruition. 

Her  face  is  tender,  sweet  and  fair, 

And  yet  so  strong  and  noble, — 
Reveals  a  friendship  that  will  wear, 

Lend  strength  in  times  of  trouble. 
Few  friends  will  love  us  with  our  faults, 

Alas,  we  all  are  human, 
But  this  friend  loves  me  as  I  am, 

Ah,  noble  love  of  woman. 


POEMS.  45 

How  seldom  is  this  life  of  ours, 

Where  jealousy  and  envy 
Oft  lurks  amidst  the  fairest  flower, 

And  poisons  feelings  friendly. 
Do  we  thus  meet  with  earnest  love, 

Which  is  all  free  from  passion, 
The  gross  and  sensual  far  above, 

O,  would  it  were  in  fashion. 

Friendship,  although  a  golden  chain 

That  binds  fond  hearts  together, 
How  easy  'tis  to  part  its  links, 

Aye  !  sunder  them  forever. 
But  she  is  always  true  to   me ; 

She  makes  me  nobler,  better, 
Her  friendship  is  a  chain  of  flowers, 

I  love  each  shining  fetter. 

She  is  not  rich  !  nor  beautiful ! 

And  her's  a  mission  lowly, 
But  yet  she  is  my  patron  saint,— 

Her  influence  pure  and  holy  ; 
And  though  she  claims  no  special  creed, 

She  holds  a  deep  communion 
With  Him  who  knows  the  soul's  great  need, 

Divine,  or  sadly  human. 

And,  as  some  sinful  penitent 

Before  his  saint  is  kneeling, 
Pours  out  his  soul  in  passion's  prayer, 

And  seeks  for  God's  revealing; 


46  POEMS. 

'Tis  thus  I  often  go  to  her, 
Sweet,  tangible  and  human, 

And  she  and  I  speak  heart  to  heart, 
As  woman  unto  woman. 

As  Christ  had  one  his  "best  beloved," 

Who  leaned  in  trust  upon  him, 
So  may  we  hold  some  precious  friend, 

With  special  love  may  crown  him. 
True  friendship  is  a  holy  thing, 

Above,  beyond  all   passion  ; 
It  is  of  that  which  angels  are, 

Alas!  'twere  more  in  fashion. 


DIVIDED. 

At  night,  in  dreams,  I  feel  thy  fond  embrace 

I  feel  thy  dewy  breath  upon  my  face, 
Thy  voice  so  dear,  I  hear  repeat  my  name, 

With  rapture  thrills  my  soul,  again,  again, 
O!  darling,  surely  doubt  can  never  come. 

In  faith,  true  love  like  rare  exotics  bloom  ; 
And  yet  a  flow'r  that  oft  may  quickly  blow, 

Whose  perfume  fills  the  air  of  dewy  eve. 

The  love  that's  true,  is  deathless, -like  the  star 
Whose  light  illumes  the  earth  from  heaven  afar,  / 

The  flow'r  of  love  a  wond'rous  fragrance  lca¥es 
Like  breath  of  heav'n  some  golden  censer  breathes. 

Then  shall  we  cast  this  lovely  thing  aside  ? 
Destroy  this  bloom  more  fair  than  all  beside  ? 


POEMS.  47 

FroDi  out  our  hearts  the  tendrils  tear  away, 
And  close  our  eyes  to  perfect  golden  day, 
And  naught  remain  but  night  and  withered  leaves? 

Ah!  no!  my  lover,  ev'ry  flow'r  that  blows 
Of  love  is  deathless  ;  like  a  star  it  glows. 

As  life  is  'gliding  on,  each  day,  each  hour, 
The  shining  chain  of  love  with  firmer  pow'r 

Will  bind  true  hearts  together,  welded  fast 

With  love  our  God  hath  linked  and  such  shall  last, 

Tho'  fate  •  tilLdeath  such  hearts  assunder  keep  — 

A-V 
Tho'  mountains  rise  between  —  tke^  misty  deep  ! 

still  shall  heart  so  true,  so  true  remain.  4 


And  so  my  lover,  though  the  mists  arise 

And  roll  all  dark  between,  and  blind  our  eyes,  >. 

And  dim  may  seem  the  promised  land  so  fair  — 
Tho'  storms  arise  and  chill  the  balmy  air  ; 

Yet-when  two  hearts  shall  beat  with  tend'rest  love 
These  clouds  that  rise  between  their  Constance  prove, 

V  ci^-u^.     tf^Cf 

And  while  this  world  may  sunder'd  keep 

These  two  that  need  each  other,  yet  to  weep 
Or  sadly  moan,  will  not  a  vict'ry  gain. 

But  when  far  out,  safe  o'er  the  unknown  sea, 

We'll  love  K>r  aye!    Our  spirits  ever  free! 
We  know,  my  lover,  love  gives  "  bitter  sweet  " 

When  love  like  ours,  so  oft  must  coldly  meet, 
But  patient  waiting  through  the  mystic  years 

May  bring  surcease  of  sorrow,  dry  the  tears 
And  full  fruition  bring.     Then-  let  us  be 

Forever  true  and  noble,  and  then  for  you  and  me 
Must  come  the  peace  and  happiness  we  seek. 


48  POEMS. 

UNITED. 
LINES  TO  NORA. 

We  stood  together,  Nora, 

The  waves  were  rolling  high, 
'Twas  after  years  of  absence  — 

A  long  and  sad  good-bye ; 
The  clouds  hung  o'er  the  mountain 

The  mists  rose  o'er  the  sea, 
While  clouds  of  doubt  about  our  hearts 

Were  dark  to  you  and  me. 

The  waves  in  low  complaining, 

That  broke  in  dashing  spray, 
Told  not  of  greater  anguish 

Thau  filled  our  hearts  that  day  ; 
I  think  the  wild  commotion  — 

Of  troubled,  star-lit  sea  — 
Was  like  the  waves  of  hope  and  fear, 

And  doubt,  that  swept  o'er  me. 

I  clasped  your  hand,  my  Nora, 

It  trembled  at  my  touch, 
A  thrill  of  hope  swept  o'er  me, 

Ah  !  had  I  hoped  too  much  f 
The  waves  were  surging  at  our  feet, 

Wild  tossed  the  foaming  spray, 
The  tide  ebbed  out  toward  other  shores, 

We  seemed  to  drift  away. 

And  while  the  waters  surged  and  moaned, 
We  watched  the  shining  waves, 


POEMS.  49 

While  memory's  tide  rushed  o'er  our  souls, 

With  hopes  of  other  days  ; 
Forgetting  pride  and  sorrow, 

And  all  the  years  between, 
The  love  of  youth  came  back  again, 

And  all  we  once  had  been. 

We  loved !  I  know,  dear  Nora, 

For  each  a  glad  surprise 
Was  felt  in  that  strange  meeting. 

I  gazed  in  your  dear  eyes 
And  understood  that  silence  deep  ; 

Around  us  sunshine  fell  — 
The  hope  of  years  fulfilled  at  last, 

You  loved  me  fond  -and  well. 


THE   HEART   OF    MY    LOVE. 

There  are  mysteries  deep  that  lie  hid  in  the  stars, 

There  are  secrets  that  green  billows  keep, 
But  not  greater  than  those  in  a  true  woman's  heart, 

Filled  with  love  that  is  holy  and  deep. 
There  are  pages  whose  writing  I  never  may  read, 

In  the  heart  of  my  love,  true  and  sweet, 
For  its  secrets  are  deep  as  those  of  the  stars, 

Or  those  hid  in  the  waves  at  my  feet. 

But  the  heart  of  my  darling  at  last  shall  unfold, 

In  the  light  of  a  passion  like  mine  ; 
'Tis  a  beautiful  volume  I  yearn  so  to  read, 

That  the  key  to  the  clasp  I  shall  find. 


50  POEMS. 

We  know  the  mistake  that  our*hearts  once  had  made 
Are  borne  out  on  the  stream  of  the  years, 

And  the  dross  of  a  love  we  once  thought  to  be  true 
Is  now  gone,  with  its  doubts  and  its  fears. 

Now,  I  know,  in  the  dreamy,  soft  after-glow  sweet, 

When  the  heart's  wildest  passions  all  rest, 
Is  the  time  wheu  my  soul  hath  the  need  of  you  most, 

When  our  love  is  the  truest  and  best ; 
We  have  learned  the  saddest  of  lessons  in  life, 

While  the  years  have  been  drifting  away ; 
We  realize  now  all  that  lesson  hath  cost, 

As  we  stand  here  at  the  close  of  the  day. 

The  dark  night  of  the  past  hath  been  filled  with  unrest, 

But  the  sun-light  of  morning  now  breaks. 
While  the  glory  of  hope  fills  my  life  with  its  wine, 

And  my  spirit  a  new  purpose  takes. 
See, my  love,  the  dark  clouds  from  the  mountains  now  roll, 

And  the  mist  shall  soon  rise  from  the  sea, 
While  the  sorrow  that  clouded  my  heart  is  dispelled 

In  the  sunshine  my  soul  finds  in  thee. 


PARTING. 

I'll  hear  no  more  the  loving  words 
That  you  have  spoken  oft  to  me, 

The  sweetest  I  have  ever  heard, 
You've  told  me  by  the  star-lit  sea. 


POEMS.  51 

But  I  must  go,  my  home  is  there  — 
Though  gloomy  mountains  rise  between ; 

Yet  shall  I  hear  your  tender  words, 
Whene're  the  sun -set's  gold  shall  gleam. 

Yes,  I  must  hasten  far  away, 

For  you  have  woven  'round  my  life 
The  woof  that  by  a  magic  spell, 

Transforms  all  duty  into  strife. 

And  so,  farewell  !  in  peace  you  stay  ; 

All  sorrow  I  shall  take  with  me  ; 
Yet  evr'y  western  breeze  that  blows, 

Will  waft  some  tender  thought  to  thee. 


EXPECTATION. 

Ethel.  Ethel,  pretty  Ethel, 
Gazing  o'er  the  waters  blue, 

Wond'ring  when  some  ship  returning 
Comes  to  bring  her  lover  true. 

Thoughtful  Ethel,  fair  and  youthful, 
Wand'ring  by  the  tossing  sea, 

Gazing  out  beyond  the  breakers  — 
O'er  the  deep's  immensity. 

It  all  seems  a  sea  of  glory, 
Far  beyond  the  foaming  spray, 

Where,  defined  the  line  of  breakers, 
Shows  where  ocean  meets  the  bay. 


52  POEMS. 

And  I  read,  iny  little  maiden, 

All  your  heart  most  longs  to  say  : 

"Will  e'er  come  my  ship  all  laden, 
With  a  wealth  of  love  some  day  ?  " 

Yes,  far  o'er  the  bounding  billow, 
Comes  a  bark  with  snowy  sail ; 

Precious  treasure  that  it  brings  you, 
All  your  heart  shall  joyful  hail. 

For  you  are  a  blithesome  maiden, 
And  the  sounding  of  the  sea 

Of  the  life  to  which  you  hasten, 
Seems  to  murmur  pleasantly. 

And  your  heart  shall  go  to  meet  it 
Far  out  o'er  the  bounding  wave; 

All  your  steps  of  life  shall  greet  it- 
Walking  with  it  to  the  grave. 

But  beware !  my  darling  Ethel, 
All  along  the  shell-strewn  shore, 

See  you  not  the  tangled  sea- weed, 
Hear  you  not  the  billows  roar? 

Listen  to  the  deep,  wierd  music, 
As  the  waves  break  at  your  feet, 

Tones  of  sadness  intermingle 

With  the  tones  of  hope  that  greet. 

O,  my  Ethel,  happy  Ethel, 

Wrecks  are  cast  up  by  the  waves, 

Telling  true  of  dire  disaster, 
And  of  lonely  ocean  graves. 


POEMS.  53 


But  I  think,  as  o'er  the  billows, 
Far  you  gaze  with  longing  eyes, 

Soon  the  "  snowy  sail"  appearing, 
Brings  your  lover  true  and  wise. 


OPPORTUNITY. 

O,  white-winged  ships,  that  sailed  by  me 

No  cargo  brought,  none  took  away, 
Say,  will  you  ever  come  again 

To  take  my  work — forgive  my  play  f 
You  reached  a  port  whence  no  return— 

I  hear  the  answer  o'er  the  sea ; 
Regrets  and  tears  will  not  avail— 

You  sailed  to  Port  Eternity. 

But  other  ships  are  sailing  by, 

They  too,  may  never  come  again, 
And  so  I'll  hail  them  as  they  fly, 

Like  birds  of  passage  o'er  the  main. 
A  warning  sound  is  in  the  waves, 

And  while  I  listen  to  its  tone, 
That  echoes  through  the  ocean  caves, 

And  on  the  sands  so  sadly  moan. 

Resolve  to  send  good  cargoes  forth 

By  ships  that  anchor  soon  and  sure, 
With  treasures  I  have  garnered  up 

To  be  kept  there  safe  and  secure. 
O,  white-winged  ships,  you  passed  me  by, 

And  I'll  regret  it  while  I  live  ; 
Each  wave  that  dashes  on  the  shore, 

Will  bring  regrets,  and  make  me  grieve. 


54  POEMS. 

THE  VIOLET'S   LOVE. 

Close  to  earth  a  violet  blossomed, 

Yet  it  raised  its  modest  eyes. 
Upward  gazed  through  cloudless  ether, 

Drawing  color  from  the  skies  ; 
While  its  golden  heart  so  tiny. 

Like  a  star  that  shone  above, 
Where  the  violet  gazed  with  longing, 

'Till  'twas  like  its  sinning  love. 
But  it  sighed  :  "  My  humble  mission 

Is  to  bloom  one  little  hov"% 
While  fair  star,  thou  art  immortal, 

Grand  thy  work  is,  great  thy  power, 
Brief  my  day  of  scent  and  blossom. 

Filled  with  de\*  y  tears  my  eyes  ; 
Yet  I  long  to  be  immortal, 

Like  the  stars  in  purple  skies. 

Mine  is  such  a  lowely  mission, 

Just  to  breathe  an  incense  sweet, 
Here,  amid  the  humble  grasses, 

Trampled  down  by  careless  feet." 
Soon  there  came  a  gentle  zephyr, 

Sent  from  lands  so  fair  and  far, 
Wafting  fragrance  from  the  violet 

Off 'ring  incense  to  the  star. 

From  the  star  the  faintest  shimmer  — 
Just  one  little  golden  ray. 

Touched  the  heart  that  dearly  lov'd  it, 
Then  went  wand' ring  on  its  way. 


POEMS.  55 

Soon  there  came  a  careless  footstep, 

Treading  on  the  violet  blue, 
Crushing  all  its  fragile  petals, 

Trampling  on  its  heart  so  true. 

Then  the  summer  air  of  evening, 

Bore  the  violets  dying  sigh 
Upward  floating,  through  blue  ether 

Where  its  star  begemmed  the  sky. 

So  'tis  well  we  learn  a  lesson 

From  the  violet,  true  and  wise, 
Though  to  earth  our  life-work  keeps  us, 

Our  ideals  mount  the  skies  ; 
Hearts  reflect  the  lights  they  worship, 

Whether  sun,  or  moon,  or  star, 
WThat  we  long  for,  we  attain  to, 

Though  above  us  bright  and  far. 


THE  END  CROWNS  THE  WORK. 
[  Class  Motto  :    Written  for  Senior  Class,  Willamette  University.] 

To-day  we  leave  thee,  Alma  Mater  - 

Mingling  tears  of  joy  and  grief, 
We  now  take  up  a  broader  life-work, 

It  may  be  long,  it  may  be  brief ; 
Tho7  our  work  may  be  unfinished, 

As  we  feel  it  is  to-day, 
Yet  our  Father  knows  our  efforts, 

And  our  labor  day  by  day. 


56  POEMS. 

Life  is  work  as  well  as  sunshine, 

Patient  work  thro'  days  and  years 
That  wins  the  crown  for  which  we're  striving, 

Rewards  the  toil,  the  strife  and  tears. 
So,  all  thro'  this  life's  swift  journey, 

Where'er  works  and  faith  be  found, 
Will  reward  tho'  slow  in  coming, 

Sometime  evr'y  effort  crown. 

When  the  sheaves  of  life  are  garner'd, 

When  the  harvest  work  is  done, 
The  tired  reapers,  sad  and  weary, 

Seek  the  crown  their  brows  have  won  ; 
Shall  the  prize  for  which  we  labor'd, 

Diploma  from  the  Father's  hand 
Be  given  us,  a  shining  guerdon, 

Passport  to  the  better  land. 


BABY    HANDS. 

These  baby  hands,  soft  baby  hand, 

What  power  fcoj^^eal  or  woe, 
May  not  one  day  these  hands  command  ? 

No  power  of  mine  may  know. 
You're  chubby,  fair  and  dimpled  now, 

And  frail  as  any  flower  — 
You  yet  may  lead  an  army  on 

To  victory,  death  or  power. 

These  little  hands  so  pure  and  sweet, 

May  guide  the  Ship  of  State 
Through  troubled  waters  wide  and  deep, 


POEMS.  57 


Oppression's  chains  may  break  ; 
May  point  the  way  to  heaven's  throne, 

Within  the  gates  of  pearl, 
May  stretch  in  benediction  forth, 

Above  a  kneeling  world. 

These  little  hands  !  a  shudder  thrills 
Within  this  hear>/of  mine, 


What  if  —  but  I^brook  no  i/"'s 

A  future  grand  is  thine. 
What  have  I  said  ?     O,  Father,  dear, 

Forgive  my  wayward  heart, 
If  but  in  worldly  victories, 

I'd  give  my  child  a  part. 

These  hands  may  work  a  fearful  curse,— 

The  future's  veiled  from  me  ; 
Temptation's  dark  may  overcome 

Without  true  grace  from  thee. 
Then  may  thy  grace  to  him  be  given, 

May  every  cause  of  right 
Have  aid  of  these  two  little  hands,— 

Then  work  them  with  thy  might. 

Well,  baby  dear,  these  thoughts  of  mine, 

Mere  castles  in  the  air,  — 
Have  filled  my  soul  with  longings  deep, 

WTith  earnest,  voiceless  prayer  ; 
But  ah  !  my  Father  knows  my  love  ; 

He  knows  my  weakness  too, 
He  knows,  and  he  shall  guide  us  both 

In  paths  we  may  not  rue. 


58  POEMS. 

HEARTSEASE. 

I  have  gathered  thee,  Heartsease,  so  fragrant  and  fair, 
Thy  name  is  suggestive  of  wonderful  power, 

Were  it  true,  then  thy  purple  and  gold  I  would  wear, 
Nor  would  cast  thee  aside  for  one  fleeting  hour. 

It  is  said,  too,  that  thoughts  from  thy  petals  shall  spring, 
And  I  doubt  not  'tis  truth,  as  I  look  in  each  face. 

Inspiration  about  thee  close  seemeth  to  cling 
That  conies  from  thy  beauty,  and  fragrance  and  grace. 

If  the  sorrowful  yearning  and  passionate  souls, 
Could  find  in  thee  peace,  when  so  full  of  unrest. 

Could'stthou  ease  human  hearts  when  thy  blossoms  unfold, 
There  are  thousands  would   wear   thee  and  find  them- 
selves blest. 

My  heart  beats  responsive  to  tenderest  thoughts, 
O,  beautiful  Heartsease,  all  potent  thy  spell, 

Thou  calmest  the  tumult  that  raged  in  my  soul, 
By  prophecy  true  that  you  ever  foretell. 

Of  a  time  when  all  buds,  in  the  radiant  glow 
Of  the  sun  that's  eternal  — in  life  and  in  light, — 

Shall  awaken  in  fragrance  and  beauty  to  blow, 

That  have  been  rudely  broken  and  wounded  in  life. 

And  tho'  quickly  you  wither,  aye  soon  do  ye  fade, 
Pure  thoughts  from  the  pansies  pass  into  ray  soul, 

And  I  feel  that  a  something  all  deathless  is  mine. 
As  I  gaze  on  the  blossoms,  white,  purple  and  gold. 


POEMS.  59 

Thy  blossoms  are  fading,  the  germ  that's  within, 
Bringeth  forth  other  flowers  much  fairer  than  these, 

As  I  read  the  sweet  promise  of  hope  that  you  bring, 
Comprehending  the  wisdom  that  nam'd  the  Heartsease. 


A    SONG    OF   THE    SOUL. 

Somehow,  all  day  long  on  the  soft  balmy  air, 

A  song  comes  to  me,  from, —  I  do  not  know  where  ; 

I  find  I  am  list'ning  its  cadences  sweet, 

At  home,  or  abroad  as  I  walk  on  the  street ; 

It  comes  I  am  thinking  from  realms  that  are  far, 

Where  spirits  are  gathered  — some  far-away  star. 

I  hear  the  soft  rustle  of  gleaming  white  wings, 

I  feel  the  sweet  calm  some  freed  spirit  brings, 

Like  essence  of  poetry,  music  and  song. 

It  sing,  ah  !  it  sings  sweet  and  low,  yet  is  strong  ; 

It  whispers  a  tale  in  my  listening  ear, — 

A  beautiful  story  I'm  longing  to  hear. 

The  spirit  within  understandeth  its  tone, 
And  answers  the  voice  that  the  soft  winds  have  borne ; 
They  answer  and  call  — are  communing  with  me,— 
My  spirit  imprison'd,  the  other  that's  free. 
Sometimes  though  this  captive  within  longs  to  fly, 
Unfurl  airy  wing  and  mount  up  through  the  sky. 

Yes,  longs  to  be  free  as  a  bird,  as  it  floats 

Through  the  gold-tinted  clouds,while  singing  sweet  notes. 

Suppress'd  shall  it  be  though  this  life  shall  be  long? 


60  POEMS. 

And  only  when  free  shall  it  burst  into  song. 
I  wait,  but  not  idl'y,  the  voice  that  shall  sing, 
I  fold,  but  not  sadly,  the  free-soaring  wing  ; 

I  work  while  I  wait,  for  the  time  must  soon  come, 
'Twill  be  while  the  roses  of  earth-life  yet  bloom  ; 
This  eaptive  within  holds  the  wish  of  my  soul  — 
The  longing  un uttered  so  shy,  yet  so  bold, 
The  spirit  revealing,  with  voice  low  and  sweet, 
Is  telling  of  victories  over  defeat. 

The  spirit  that  calling,  ambition  may  be,— 

I  long  to  express  wyhat  it  promises  me, 

But  soul-speech  may  never  by  tongue  be  express'd, 

Tho'  sweet  is  its  promise,  it  still  brings  unrest. 

The  time  is  now  coming,  already  faint  gleams 

Illumne  the  sky  of  my  beautiful  dreams  ; 

No  laurel  of  poet  may  e'er  press  my  brow, 

But  songs  I  shall  sing  that  I'm  dreaming  of  now. 


THE    OUT -GOING   SHIPS. 

A  stately  ship,  with  sails  unfurl'd, 

Is  passing  out  to  sea, 
I've  watched  her  long  ;  she  rounds  the  point 

And  soon  is  lost  to  me. 

I  watch' d  her  go,  how  swift  her  flight, 

That  steady  seemed  and  true — 
What  winds  of  fate  adverse  may  blow 

From  o'er  the  waters  blue. 


POEMS.  61 


O,  will  she  gain  the  distant  port, 

Some  far-off  sunny  shore, 
Spice-laden  isles  in  southern  seas  ? 

Will  she  return  once  more? 

The  sky  is  clear,  the  waves  are  calm, 
She  sailed  out  with  the  tide  ; 

With  hope  we  wait  her  unknown  fate 
From  over  ocean  wide. 

I  too  have  sent  forth  stately  ships 

But  one  came  not  again, 
It  was  the  pride  of  all  my  ships, 

I  sent  out  o'er  the  main. 

The  sailors  sung,  "  Ahoy  !  Ahoy  ! ' ' 

Upon  the  morning  air, 
I  heard  k<ahoy,"  with  strange  wild  joy 

Waft  o'er  the  bay  so  fair. 

I  sent  her  forth  with  cargo  worth 
The  best  my  life  hath  known, 

My  dearest  hopes,  my  faith  was  there, 
Borne  in  my  ship  that's  gone. 

I  gaze  far  out  o'er  sun-lit  sea, 

Beyond  Columbia's  bar, 
Where  breakers  lash  the  foaming  tide, 

Where  sail'd  my  barque  afar. 

Alas  !  no  more  on  this  same  shore, 

My  ship  may  anchor  cast ; 
At  break  of  day  she  sail'd  away, 

With  dreams  too  bright  to  last. 


62  POEMS. 

Some  wrecks  are  cast  upon  the  shore, 
And  some  go  down  at  sea  ; 

Will  my  barque  gain  the  wish'd-for  port, 
Return  with  wealth  to  me  ? 


A    COMMON    THEME  — HOME. 

Of  all  the  pleasures  earth  can  give, 

That's  told  in  song  or  story, 
The  one  that's  nearest  perfect  bliss, 

And  fills  the  soul  with  glory  ; 

Is  that  sweet  realm  all  beautiful, 

Where  helpful  angels  come, 
Found  in  the  sanctuary  sweet. 

Of  quiet,  peaceful  home. 

Our  truest  friends  we  tin d  at  home, 

When  very  great  our  need, 
And  though  but  numbering  two  or  three, 

Yet  these  are  friends  indeed. 

These  shall  not  fail  us,  many  will. 

But  if  at  home  we  meet 
The  humble  angels,  peace  and  love, 

Will  life  be  calm  and  sweet. 

But  if  one  blessing  only,  mine, 

And  all  else  be  denied  me, 
Give  me  dear  home  with  two  or  three 

Brave,  true  friends  beside  me. 


POEMS.  63 

IMAGINATION. 

This  wondrous  gift  of  love  divine, 

Immortal  mind  controlling, 
Is  no  delusive,  idle  dream, 

Like  clouds  at  sunset  rolling. 

It  weaves  a  spell  o'er  ev'ry  soul, 

An  influence  past  our  knowing, 
It  comes  from  God,  all  pure,  divine, 

The  Father's  love  bestowing. 

Imagination's  golden  light 

Tints  earth,  and  skyf  and  river, 
Like  distant  star-shine,  gleaming  bright, 

It  glows  and  burns  forever. 


CHRISTMAS   ECHOES. 

There's  a  wonderful  song  in  the  air  to-night, 

A  song  that  an  angel  sings, 
It  is  loud  and  clear  and  thrilleth  the  heart 

With  tiding  of  glorious  things. 
There's  the  sound  of  rushing  of  wings  to-night, 

There  are  tidings  of  peace  to  men, 
While  the  angels  sing  of  the  beautiful  light 

Of  a  star  shining  o'er  Bethlehem. 

Yes,  a  glittering  star  in  the  sky  to-night, 
Whose  glory  fills  earth  and  heaven, 

Outshines  the  fair  moon  with  her  brilliant  crest, 
A  herald  of  life  'tis  given. 


64  POEMS. 

This  star  in  its  glory  arose  for  the  race. 

Far  shines  its  light !  the  bright  morning  star, 
It  seemeth  to  shine  through  all  time  and  all  space, 

All  worlds  it  illumines  afar. 

O,  glorious  star  !  effulgent  thy  beam, 
Thy  splendor  shall  never  grow  dim, 

We  follow  afar  thy  glittering  sheen, 
For  surely  thou  leadeth  to  Him. 

The  shepherds  are  watching  their  flocks  to-night, 
A  wonderful  choir  they  hear. 

They  see  that  white  star  in  the  east  so  bright, 
While  music  rings  loud  and  near. 

The  heavens  are  glowing  with  radient  light, 

While  up  beyond  orient  bars, 
The  heavenly  music  which  rings  on  the  night, 

Now  seemeth  to  come  from  the  stars. 
As  wise  men  of  old  came  with  gifts,  O,  king, 

Of  frankincense,  myrrh  and  bright  gold, 
Our  gifts  to  thy  altar,  dear  Lord  we  bring, 

The  treasure  most  precious  we  hold. 

Pure  incense  ascends  to  thy  throne  upon  high, 

The  incense  of  love  that's  divine, 
One  bringeth  his  faith,  while  another  his  work. 

As  offerings  are  brought  to  thy  shrine. 
One  liveth  a  martyr  his  whole  life  long, 

To  a  principle  stern,  untrue, 
While  one  with  the  love  that  casteth  out  fear 

Finds  much  in  the  vinyard  to  do, 


POEMS.  65 

Another,  in  doubt,  simply  clings  to  the  cross, 

With  scarcely  the  courage  to  pray, 
Yet  the  truth  surely  come  to  each  earnest  soul 

Eevealing  the  light  and  the  way. 
And 'still  we  are  offering  gifts  at  thy  shrine, 

Of  frankincense,  spices  and  gold, 
And  still  ringing  out  are  the  sweet  Christmas  chimes, 

Again  is  the  old  story  told, 

For  light  of  that  star  shone  forth  in  the  world 

Through  the  ages  before  Jesus  came, 
On  all  sacred  things  on  this  earth  shown  that  light — 

No  matter  what  creed  or  what  name. 
It  has  brought  to  us  knowledge  of  all  noble  things, 

Since  the  dawn  of  creation  began, — 
Its  star-beams  of  light  shall  permeate  earth 

'Till  the  last  generation  of  man. 

The  vibrating  notes  of  immortal  life, 

Are  tones  which  we  hear  in  the  song, 
And  the  seraphs  are  hymning  the  same  songs  of  praise. 

They  sung  in  the  ages  long  gone. 
In  the  depths  of  the  sky  the  same  stars  shine, 

That  shone  in  the  blue  heavens  then, 
While  our  hearts  are  still  turning  to  the  same  blessed 
shrine, 

Whose  light  is  the  life  of  all  men. 

Chime  on  Christmas  bells,  all  ye  stars  in  the  sky, 

With  flames  that  are  burning  so  bright, 
Are  darkness  compared  to  the  real  morning  star, 

Whose  rays  are  the  life  and  the  light. 


66  POEMS. 

Then  come,  let  us  bring  here  our  offerings  pure, 
The  best  that  our  hearts  can  e'er  bring, 

To  shrine  of  the  Truth,  which  shines  for  all  men, 
For  Truth  alone  is  our  king. 


THE  MOON    AND  STAR, 

Once  when  the  new  moon  shone  like  silver, 

So  bright  in  the  West  afar, 
And  seemed  to  be  closely  followed 

By  one  palely  glittering  star, — 

As  over  my  shoulder  I  saw  it, 

I  thought  of  the  ominous  sign, 
And  made  a  good  wish  for  the  morrow  ; 

How  fond  was  that  sweet  wish  of  mine. 

Then  brighter,  but  later  each  evening, 
The  fair  moon  shone  over  the  sea, 

While  paler  and  softer  the  star-light, 
Because  it  was  farther  from  me. 

I  thought  of  the  many  lights  flashing, 
So  bright  are,  because  they  are  near. 

The  star  may  be  dim,  but  comstant, 
With  flame  ever  steady  and  clear. 

While  bright  is  the  moon's  lamp  of  silver, 

That  flashes  its  radiant  beam, 
The  star  is  much  better  to  wish  by, 

More  steady  and  true  does  it  gleam. 

Though  wishing  is  idle  and  foolish, 
And  wishes  so  seldom  come  true, 

The^foJl  moon  ne'er  finds  us  much  wiser, 
Than  when  we  had  wished  with  the  new. 


POEMS.  67 

DEDICATION. 
[Of  Unity  Church,  1891.] 

Father,  in  thy  presence  now 

We  have  come  with  hearts  aflame 
With  the  love  that  emanates 

From  thy  great  and  holy  name. 

Let  no  worldy  thoughts  intrude, 

But  with  spirits  pure  and  free, 
Like  the  rosebud  kissed  by  dew, 

May  our  souls  responsive  be. 

Now  the  emanations  pure, 

By  the  christening  from  above, 
Gives  thy  children  power  divine  ; 

Fills  our  souls  with  peace  and  love ; 

As  before  Thy  shrine  we  bow, 

Every  heart  casts  out  all  fear, 
Knowing  well  the  tender  love 

Of  our  Father  now  and  here. 

In  no  kingdom  far  away 

Seek  we  for  a  heaven  pure, 
But  within  our  souls  shall  be 

All  of  love  that  shall  endure. 

In  this  house  we  dedicate 

To  thy  service,  we  shall  find 
That  the  service  of  our  God 

Is  the  service  of  mankind. 


68  POEMS. 

TRUE    BAPTISM. 

There  came  to  the  Master,  in  days  long  past, 
Two  chosen  desciples  a  favor  to  ask, 
For  seats  in  his  kingdom,  the  loftiest  place, 
They  knew  not  his  was  a  kingdom  of  grace,— 
And  thought  of  him  as  a  temporal  king. 

The  Master  with  pitying  eyes  looked  up, 
He  knew  to  the  dregs  he  must  drink  the  cup, 
And  knowing  they  sought  but  an  earthly  place, 
Divine  compassion  illumued  his  face. 
And  tender  his  questioning. 

He  said  to  them  :  "  Can  ye  endure 

My  baptism,  coming  so  soon  and  sure  ?  " 

Then  quickly  they  answered,  impulsive  each  man 

"  We  can,  dear  Lord,  we  are  able,  we  can." 

And  they  meet  his  look  with  firm  resolve. 
The  dear  Lord  gazed  with  sorrowing  smile 
Into  unseen  things,  nor  spake  for  awhile, 
But  when  he  spake  in  pittying  tone, 
The  list'ning^angels  must  have  known 
The  Master  knew  he  must  suffer  alone, 

And  still'd  their  harps  in  heaven's  great  dome. 

Then  gently  he  said  to  his  followers  there  : 
"  Yes,  much  of  my  baptism  ye  shall  share, 
A  firey  baptism  of  trial  and  of  pain 
Must  be  your  portion,  e'er  ye  shall  gain 
That  spiritual  baptism.    The  Christ  in  you, 
As  it  doth  in  me,  shall  at  last  subdue. 
And  ye  your  worthiness  then  shall  prove." 


POEMS.  69 

We  are  desciples,  the  Christ  too  is  ours, 
Develops  each  soul's  most  spiritual  powers, 
We  learn  as  did  they  of  that  far  olden  time, 
That  the  kingdom  on  earth  is  the  kingdom  divine. 
That  life  is  a  baptism  of  trial  of  pain, 
And  only  through  baptism  the  kingdom  we  gain. 
But  the  Holy  Spirit  that  the  Father  hath  given, 
Eeveals  to  the  soul  the  kingdom  of  heaven 
Which  is  ever  the  kingdom  of  love. 


ASPIRATION. 

Our  father  in  heaven, 
Thy  love  evermore  — 
My  soul  fills  with  rapture, 
With  holiness,  power. 
I  would^live  in  thy  presence 
And  never  grow  cold, 
Ever  prove  by  my  life  work 
Thy  grace  in  my  soul. 

Thy  love  doth  encompass 
My  being  around  ; 
No  fears  can  assail  me, 
No  fortune  can  frown,— 
Come  sorrow  or  blessing, 
The  heart  on  thee  stayed 
With  faith  for  its  anchor 
Cannot  be  dismayed. 


70  POEMS. 


The  portals  of  heaven 
Opened  earthward  to  me, 
My  faith  and  my  longing 
Beach  upward  to  thee  ; 
Thou  leadeth  me,  Father, 
By  thy  guiding  hand 
Through  valley,  o'er  mountain, 
To  thy  promised  laud. 


A    SONNET. 

I've  dreamed  of  a  love  that  was  pure  and  sweet, 
A  something  holy,  that  I  should  meet. 

A  love  that  I  should  not  rue ; 
I  cannot  now  tell  of  all  I  have  dreamed, 
Nor  how  beautiful,  pure,  the  vision  has  seerned,- 

And  now  has  my  dream  come  true  ? 
The  answer  I  read  in  your  dear,  dear,  eyes. 
While  all  my  soul  in  a  glad  surprise, 

Fulfllleth  that  dream  in  you. 


ADELIA. 

'Tis  Christmas  eve,  Adelia, 
The  moon  is  shining  bright, 

Its  glim'ring  sheen  surrounds  me 
And  it  stirs  my  soul  to-night. 

A  night  long  gone,  Adelia, 
Comes  back  to  me  again, 


POEMS.  71 

With  sad  sweet  memories,  darling, 
With  joy  that  yet  is  pain. 

I  never  knew  your  heart,  love, 

Until  the  seal  was  set ; 
I  feared  to  risk  ray  fate,  dear, 

My  soul  but  reaps  regret ; 
I  read  the  story,  'Delia, — 

Wherever  we  may  meet, — 
Your  life  is  brave  and  true,  dear, 

While  mine  but  knows  defeat. 

Was  I  to  blame,  my  darling, — 

For  love  is  ever  blind,— 
To  think  your  wealth  and  beauty 

Would  part  your  fate  from  mine? 
You  walk  through  life  so  queenly, 

You  act  so  well  your  part, 
He  dwells  with  you  serenely, — 

But  I  can  claim  your  heart. 

Though  love  on  earth  brings  anguish, 

It  fills  high  heaven  with  bliss  ; 
Our  souls  will  meet,  Adelia, 

In  other  realms  than  this. 
The  moonlight  falls,  Adelia, 

The  Christmas  stars  are  bright ; 
The  star  of  peace  that's  shining, 

Illu nines  my  soul  to-night. 

The  Christmas  tide  is  flowing, — 
Is  flowing  lull  and  free ; 


72  POEMS. 

I'm  going,  dearest,  going,— 

Reach  out  your  hands  to  ine, — 

And  know  that  for  thy  coming 
A  ransomed  spirit   waits, 

A  little  while,  my  darling, 
We'll  meet  within  the  gates. 


KNOWLEDGE. 


KNOWLEDGE. 


[  A  lecture  delivered  before  the  State  Teachers'  Institute,  at  Astoria,  Oregon, 
July  11,  1885.  J 

Knowledge  is  the  freemasonry  of  a  condition  where  all 
are  equal,  and  is  indicated  by  a  rank  of  mind  which  must 
take  precedence  to  all  external  rank.  The  common-place 
quotation  that  "  knowledge  is  power,"  is  as  great  a  truth  as 
was  ever  uttered  by  wise  sage,  or  learned  philosopher  ;  yet 
knowledge  without  wisdom  is  not  always  a  power  for  good. 
While  knowledge  is  the  act  of  knowing  the  clear  and  cer- 
tain perceptions  of  truth,  wisdom  is  rather  the  result  of 
and  capacity  of  making  due  use  of  knowledge.  The  poet 
Cowper  makes  a  nice  distinction,  when  he  says:  "Knowl- 
edge dwells  in  heads  replete  with  thoughts  of  other  men ; 
wisdom  in  minds  attentive  to  their  own,  knowledge  is  the 
material  with  which  wisdom  builds,  and  is  proud  that  he 
has  learned  so  much,  while  wisdom  is  humble  that  he 
knows  no  more." 

This  convention  of  a  body  of  teachers  is  not  only  to  gain 
new  ideas,  more  accurate  knowledge  ;  but  also  the  wisdom 
to  properly  apply  it, — for  it  is  the  wise  use  of  knowledge 
more  than  its  possession,  that  determine  its  worth.  There 
is  a  great  difference  between  imparting  and  absorbing 
knowledge,  for  the  one  is  external,  the  other  internal 
growth.  He  who  simply  absorbs  it  grows  from  without, 
only  possessing  talent  to  acquire ;  while  the  within  original 
man  has  genius  to  impart.  The  advent  of  knowledge  has 


78  KNOWLEDGE. 

ever  been  a  record  of  trials,  tears,  heartaches,  and  often 
bloodshed,  before  its  establishment  and  maintenance ;  for  it 
reaches  its  final  triumph  only  through  suffering,  while  its 
practical  use  is  at  the  sacrifice  of  ignorance,  and  this  is  too 
often  at  the  sacrifice  of  innocence.  Every  improvement, 
every  advancement  in  civilization,  injures  some  to  benefit 
others.  The  highway  of  knowledge  is  not  always  strewn 
with  roses.  Conquering  science  in  its  onward,  triumphal 
march  ruthlessly  tramples  down  whatever  opposes  its 
progress,  whether  ignorance  or  innocence. 

Stephen  Montague  says:  "You  diffuse  knowledge  and 
the  world  grows  brighter,  but  discontent  and  poverty  re- 
places ignorance.  One  generation  is  sacrificed  to  the  next.'' 
History  teaches  that  from  the  earliest  ages  to  the  present  it 
has  often  taken  ten  thousand  such  lives  as  yours  and  mine 
to  accomplish  one  of  God's  eternal  purposes.  The  only 
consolation  we  derive  is  that  sacrifices  now  will  result  in 
future  blessings.  Our  present  liberties  and  blessings  came 
by  the  martyrdom  of  past  generations.  If  to  the  advocates 
of  the  knowledge  of  truth  came  the  actual  realization  of 
the  suffering  of  those  sacrificed  e'er  it  be  established,  many 
times  they  could  not  have  the  courage  to  conquer,  but 
would  consider  it  mercy  to  let  ignorance  reign  in  her 
dark  dominion. 

Macauley  teaches  that  with  the  advance  of  liberalism  the 
human  race  grows  everywhere  happier  and  more  enlight- 
ened. Sir  Archibald  Allison  teaches  that  liberalism  means 
revolution  and  anarchy.  James  Anthony  Froude  says: 
"Both  these  views  may  be  false,  each  may  be  sincere,  but 
he  unconsciously  drops  what  does  not  suit  his  argument 


KNOWLEDGE.  79 

and  fuses  such  facts  as  go  to  make  his  picture  effective." 
All  labor-saving  machinery  upon  its  first  introduction 
throws  thousands  out  of  employment.  Every  invention, 
every  revolution  of  the  wheels  of  progression's  car  of 
knowledge,  crushes  thousands  who  are  ignorant,  yet  inno- 
cent. The  civilization  of  new  countries  is  death  to  the 
native  savage  races.  Yet  events  wait  not  for  individuals 
or  races  of  men.  These  facts  are  great  mysteries,  for  our 
finite  minds  cannot  comprehend  the  dark  ''whys"  of 
God,  so  we  wait,  and  waiting,  wonder  at  the  strange  provi- 
dence of  ''Him  whose  ways  are  indeed  past  finding  out." 
Owen  Meredith  says:  "Life  begins  and  ends  in  doubt," 
while  another  writes,  ''Doubt  is  the  offspring  of  know- 
ledge." We  know  that  doubt  must  overturn  simplicity  and 
lead  to  investigation  of  truth.  Shakespeare  says  :  "Know- 
ledge is  the  wing  wherewith  we  fly  to  heaven,"  and  again, 
"Our  doubts  are  traitors,  and  make  us  lose  the  good  we  oft 
might  win."  There  is  some  truth  in  this  last  quotation, 
but  I  believe  our  fears  are  the  "traitors,"  and  doubts  are 
sometimes  friends  that  point  to  truth.  Geothesays:  "That 
is  holy  which  binds  many  souls  together."  Therefore  know- 
ledge, which  is  the  strongest  tie  that  can  bind  and  bless 
society  in  a  great  universal  brotherhood,  is  eminently  holy, 
for  increased  scientific  and  religious  knowledge  develops 
the  wealth  and  progress  of  the  soul,  and  increases  a  desire 
for  cultivation.  Progress  begets  progress,  for  the  mind  is 
full  of  the  desire  to  project  itself  forever  onward  into  new 
fields  of  research.  As  soon  as  one  truth  is  demonstrated  it 
searches  the  unknown,  in  the  expectation  of  finding  another 
and  greater.  Thought  cannot  be  confined,  for  the  soul  of 
thought  travels  free  as  the  music  of  the  waves  or  the  light 


80  KNOWLEDGE. 

of  the  eternal  stars.  And  though  custom  does  conquer  this 
world  of  matter,  it  cannot  control  the  greater  world  of 
thought,  where  our  true  natures  exist.  And  so  mankind 
have  learned  to  exalt  fredom  of  thought.  And  there  is  no 
law  to  govern  this  freedom,  for  law  is  only  to  restrain 
license.  Free  schools,  free  speech,  free  thought,  is  a  nobler 
freedom  than  its  martyrs  ever  dreamed.  And  so  old  things 
are  passing  away,  and  we  are  advancing  to  a  new  heaven 
and  new  earth  of  thought,  of  intellectual  reign.  But  an 
increase  of  knowledge  is  but  an  increase  of  doubt  and  per- 
plexity, and  he  who  invokes  knowledge  from  her  urn  calls 
forth  a  power  entailing  great  responsibilities.  Yet  from 
early  youth  we  are  taught  to  gain  this  wonderful  power  to 
improve  the  intellect,  which  alone  is  heir  of  immortality 
and  which  is  just  as  immortal  now  as  it  will  ever  become, 
for  the  once  awakened  soul  dies  not.  It  passes  through 
psychological  changes,  but  the  soul's  language  knows  no 
word  for  death  —  there  is  no  death  for  that  which  wills  and 
thinks.  Ah !  knowledge  is  powerful,  and  can  pierce  the 
distant  heavens  and  explore  much  of  the  realm  of  mind,  yet 
fails  to  peer  for  one  moment  into  that  realm  which  is  so  far 
away  beyond  the  stars,  yet  which  is  so  close  about  us  that 
the  fluttering  heart-beat,  the  tremulous  breath  we  draw  is 
the  boundary  of  that  world  which  spirit  alone  may  enter, 
and  though  we  have  all  the  knowledge  of  the  past  to  aid 
us,  we  have  not  the  wisdom  to  truthfully  pierce  one  mo- 
ment of  that  future.  So  why  not  tone  down  our  arrogance, 
confess  our  ignorance  and  simply  say:  "I  do  not  know." 

But  it  is  the  nature  of  man  to  question  all  things,  and  not 
only  to  understand  the  truth,  but  to  question  why  it  is 
truth. 


KNOWLEDGE.  81 

Truth  is  the  offspring  of  knowledge  and  research,  and  its 
birth  is  through  travail  and  suffering ;  and  it  is  only  as  we 
become  familiar  with  its  justice  that  it  secures  happiness. 
We  do  not  always  know  when  and  where  truth  may  be 
found,  for,  often  in  the  past  has  truth  been  wrapped  up  in 
the  vagaries  of  a  dispised  creed,  or  rejected  religion.  We 
find  many  of  the  dim  utterances  of  Confucius,  Gautama, 
Zoroaster  and  Mahomet,  and  many  other  religions  and  phil- 
osophies as]firmly  established  in  the  accepted  religions  and 
creeds  I  of  the  present  day,  as  are  the  vague  if  inspired 
utterances  of  the  Hebrew  prophets.  Knowledge  demands 
martyrs,  and  men  have  suffered  martyrdom  all  ages  for  its 
advancement.  Oftentimes  not  so  much  for  truth  as  for 
some  little  narrow  sect  or  creed,  the  effort  put  forth,  being 
to  do  good  according  to  their  peculiar  creed.  Yet  while  many 
a  great  heart  is  ilj  assorted  with  a  narrow  creed,  our  creeds 
are  generally  in  harmony  with  our  intellects.  Each  new 
creed -maker  goes  to  the  Bible  and  takes  what  he  wants  to 
answer  his  purpose,  if  he  can  find  it  there,  and  adds  what 
he  thinks ;  and  the  Bible,  well  manipulated,  will  prove 
any  doctrine  in  this  world.  So  divisions  arise.  Why,  if 
facts  were  as  plain  as  some  would  have  us  believe,  Christ's 
prayer  that  all  his  people  might  be  one,  would  have  been 
answered  long  ago,  but  almost  1900  years  since  that  prayer 
was  uttered  finds  them  still  very  far  apart.  O,  if  we  could 
sweep  these  little  narrow  prejudices  forever  from  our  souls, 
and  stand  forth  in  the  freedom  of  our  God,  whoever,  where- 
ever,  whatever  he  may  be — eating  without  fear  the  fruits  of 
the  tree  of  knowledge  and  of  life — irrespective  of  men  or 
creeds;  then  indeed  might  wisdom  be  justified  of  her  works. 
When  knowledge  divests  theology  of  some  of  its  inconsis- 


82  KNOWLEDGE. 

tencies,  then  shall  we  be  able  to  understand  and  see  clearly 
the  germ  of  truth  that  lies  within.  Truth,  like  a  kernel  of 
wheat,  occupies  but  a  small  space  in  the  universe,  but 
there  are  more  possibilities  of  bread  for  earth's  hungering 
thousands  in  it  than  in  all  the  chaff  in  the  world.  One 
germ  of  truth  has  more  salvation  in  it  than  all  the  theology 
this  side  of  the  grave, — and  there  will  be  no  theology  the 
other  side.  And  so  we  think  and  doubt,  and  perhaps  lose 
much  faith,  for  earnest  thought  is  often  the  death-blow  to 
unquestioning  faith  ;  for,  upon  investigation  we  are  obliged 
to  overturn  much  that  we  have  accepted  as  knowledge,  but 
which  wisdom  dare  not  apply,  or,  some  of  our  accepted 
theology.  Truth  demands  the  sacrifice  of  one.  Which 
shall  it  be  ?  While  we  do  not  need  a  new  religion,  we  do 
need  a  great  reformation  of  the  old,  just  as  our  school- 
books,  maps  and  charts  need  revising  once  in  a  while  to 
meet  the  demands  of  the  age.  Ah!  we  do  not  know  what 
realms  awakened  thought  leads  to,  for  the  shadows  of 
mystery  and  the  bright  gleams  of  light  chase  each  other 
ever.  While  there  is  always  an  unsolved  mystery  just 
ahead  of  us,  there  is  a  light  follows  to  dispel  the  gloom,  but 
the  brighter  the  dispelling  light  the  more  clearly  it  enables 
us  to  discern  a  greater  mistery  just  beyond  us  still.  It  is 
just  as  absurd  to  ask  a  man  to  be  entertained  by  a  primer 
all  his  days  as  to  ask  him  to  cling  to  old  beliefs  after  he  has 
outgrown  them.  There  is  some  truth  in  all  creeds,  but  all 
of  truth  in  none. 

James  Anthony  Froude  says :  "  It  is  certain  that  com- 
monwealths, institutions,  creeds,  are  mortal  as  we  ourselves; 
that  they  must  pass  through  the  same  stages  of  youth, 
maturity,  corruption  and  death  as  each  of  us  pass 


KNOWLEDGE.  83 

tli rough.  It  may  be  that  the  future  may  be  like  the 
past  and  that  to  everything  that  has  an  organized  existence 
there  is  an  appointed  growth,  decline  and  end.  If  theology 
was  rid  of  the  rubbish  of  superstition  and  prejudice  which 
envelops  it  there  would  be  but  a  small  grain  left.  For  our 
theology  is  founded  on  pagan  mythology.  We  do  not  do 
away  with  their  gods,  we  only  substitute  our  idea  of  God 
in  place  of  theirs.  Yet  our  ideal  of  God  is  much  higher, 
purer  and  better  than  theirs,  but  future  generations  will 
come  much  nearer  his  real  attributes  than  have  we,  for  we 
have  not  all  of  knowledge  yet.  While  firmly  believing  in 
a  God  of  purity,  justice  and  mercy,  we  may  claim  it  as  our 
right  to  doubt  much  of  the  teachings  of  men  respecting 
him.  It  is  not  best  for  us  to  brand  as  infidels  or  skeptics 
those  who,  believing  in  a  God  of  goodness  and  wisdom, 
yet,  who  are  honest  enough  to  stand  up  in  the  face  of  oppo- 
sition and  honestly  declare  I  do  not  understand  him.  There 
are  mysteries  which  will  be  mysteries  still,  even  though 
this  intellect,  this  immortality  within  us,  progress  to  the 
knowledge  of  gods.  The  best  part  of  all  or  any  religon,  that, 
simmered  down,  teaches  a  pure  and  noble  life  is  salvation 
and  security.  Man,  by  his  divisions  of  the  sheep  from  the 
goats,  makes  many  mistakes,  but  he  who  is  perfect  in  wis- 
dom makes  none,  and  even  though  we  be  surprised  at  his 
divisions  they  are  just,  for  the  critics  up  there  are  just  and 
thoroughly  understand  humanity.  So  in  wise  beliefs  we 
need  fear  no  evil,  and  even  though  we  err,  we  need  not  so 
much  dread  justice  as  hope  for  mercy.  There  are  many 
ruined  temples*  still  standing  whose  gods  and  creeds 
crumbled  into  dust  ages  ago.  So  some  men  stand  to-day, 
silent  empty  temples,  representing  a  vanished  delusion,  or 


84  KNOWLEDGE. 

are  floating  along  in  their  little  ark  of  salvation,  with  all 
the  rest  of  the  world  drowning  outside.  The  human  heart 
is  full  of  strange  delusions,  but  the  greatest  are  the  creeds 
representing  its  beliefs  and  prejudices. 

The  seeds  of  knowledge  may  slumber  long  before  the 
fruits  of  wisdom  ripen  in  the  soul,  yet  the  germ  of  life  maj 
be  there.  Kernels  of  wheat  have  been  found  in  ancient 
tombs  where  the  germ  had  kept  the  secret  of  life  hidden 
well  through  the  long  centuries.  And  there  is  a  beautiful 
legend  of  the  seed  of  the  heliotrope  being  found  in  the  hand 
of  a  mummy,  which  upon  being  planted  sprung  forth  into 
fragrance  and  beauty  after  thousands  of  years ;  waiting  the 
time  and  opportunity,  in  the  far  future,  when  for  unborn 
generations  it  should  at  last  blossom  in  rare  perfection  and 
diffuse  its  wonderous  perfume.  So  may  the  germ  of  truth 
be  held  back  for  ages  in  the  vice-like  grip  of  some  grim 
skeleton  hand  of  a  dead,  yet  embalmed  doctrine,  before  the 
knowledge  of  its  fragrance  and  beauty  is  shed  forth  for 
mankind. 

There  may  be  nothing  new  under  the  sun,  and  you  teachers 
may  not  be  discoverers  of  new  realms,  unless  the  mind  of 
childhood  reveal  it  unto  you ;  but  you  may  be  successful 
in  the  faculty  of  imparting  the  discoveries  of  the  knowledge 
of  others,  and  he  who  arouses  in  the  mind  of  the  child  the 
longing  after  the  attainment  of  knowledge,  comes  as  near 
as  man  can  come  to  the  creative  attributes  of  God. 

He  who  imparts  an  intelligent  apprehension,  gives  a  bet- 
ter understanding  of  the  living  languages  all  around  us  as 
they  are,  a  knowledge  that  meets  the  wants  and  incidents 
of  daily  life,  is  a  more  desirable  teacher  than  he  who 


KNOWLEDGE.  85 

spends  so  much  time  on  the  uncertain  history  of  the  past, 
or  the  dead  languages  of  an  accomplished  era.  There  are 
those  who  seem  to  possess  the  faculty  of  showing  off  a 
child'  signorance  much  more  than  bringing  out,  or  increas- 
ing his  knowledge.  The  teacher  is  the  moral  and  mental 
whetstone,  on  which  the  child  sharpens  his  wits,  therefore 
it  becomes  necessary  that  between  the  disciplined  mind  of 
the  teacher,  and  the  untutored  mind  of  the  child,  there 
should  be  a  bond  of  sympathy.  Love,  the  central  emotion, 
around  which  all  other  emotions  revolve,  and  from  which 
all  nobler  emotions  evolve,  is  the  bridge  which  spans  the 
chasm  between  the  intelligence  of  the  teacher  and  the  ig- 
norance of  the  child.  The  educated,  cultivated  mind 
transmits  knowledge,  and  heart  reacts  upon  heart,  and 
mind  upon  mind;  the  simple,  childish  mind  draws  upon 
the  intellectuality  of  the  stronger  and  imparts  freshness 
and  originality  to  that  which  is  in  danger  of  becoming 
merely  booky. 

The  most  successful  teacher  has  not,  necessarily,  the  great- 
est amount  of  knowledge,  but  the  wisdom  to  properly 
apply  well  what  he  does  understand.  In  instructing  and 
benefiting  others,  it  becomes  necessary  that  we  stop  to 
consider,  and  realize,  if  we  can,  the  probable  difference 
between  the  fiber  of  individual  souls,  or  our  own  soul, 
from  the  multitude  of  those  around  us. 

One  of  the  most  beneficent  gifts  bestowed  upon  humanity 
is  adaptibility.  Unless  one  have  adaptability  and  can 
gracefully  conform  to  surrounding  circumstances,  know- 
ledge may  as  often  prove  a  detriment  as  a  blessing.  Yet  to 
possess  adaptibility  one  must  have  quick  perceptions  and 


86  KNOWLEDGE. 

readily  read  human  nature.  The  teacher  of  the  young  has 
for  study  before  him  volume  first,  of  the  wonderful  book  of 
humanity,  a  sort  of  primer,  whose  pages,  seemingly  so  sim- 
ple, are  sometimes  written  in  strange  characters,  difficult  to 
understand  and  translate.  Perhaps  the  child  is  more  like 
the  mental  arithmetic,  which  is  full  of  difficult  problems; 
but  the  mental  arithmetic,  thoroughly  understood,  furnishes 
the  key  to  the  higher  mathematics,  and  the  primer  is  but 
the  prelude  to  all  that  follows  in  the  great  field  of  litera- 
ture. So  the  mind  of  childhood,  appreciated  and  under- 
stood, furnishes  the  key  to  all  the  more  intricate  phases  of 
youth,  manhood  and  age  that  follow,  and  he  who  under- 
stands children  holds  the  golden  key  that  unlocks  the  great 
heart  of  humanity.  Christ  taught  that  inasmuch  as  ye 
help  the  least  of  these  "  ye  have  done  it  unto  me." 

In  my  short-sighted,  human  way  ( and  that  is  all  the  way 
we  have  of  looking  at  things ),  I  have  often  wondered  what 
condition  we,  as  a  race,  would  have  been  in  if  Eve  had  not- 
eaten  of  the  forbidden  fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowledge. 
According  to  a  literal  rendering  of  the  story  of  the  Garden 
of  Eden,  God's  original  intention  was  that  the  race  ot  man- 
kind should  be  without  knowledge,  although  he  planted  the 
tree  of  knowledge  of  good  and  evil  in  the  midst  of  that 
beautiful  garden,  whose  beauties  the  inhabitants  without 
knowledge  could  not  appreciate  or  understand.  Here 
spread  before  them  in  perfection,  was  nature  with  her  won- 
derful lessons  to  man  untranslatable,  without  one  ray  of 
knowledge  to  lighten  the  darkness  of  his  ignorance.  Man 
in  this  state  was  innocent,  not  from  any  good  or  evil  in  his 
nature,  but  because  like  the  infant  he  knew  no  wrong.  Par- 
adise was  a  garden  of  innocence,  because  of  ignorance. 


KNOWLEDGE.  87 

But  the  serpent,  wisdom,  bade  Eve  taste  the  tempting  fruit 
of  the  tree  of  knowledge.  With  the  ancients  the  serpent 
was  symbolical  of  wisdom,  and  also  indicated  subtlety. 
Wisdom  charms  us  still,  and  by  its  subtlety  knowledge  plans 
and  works.  The  Great  Teacher  when  sending  his  disciples 
forth  to  teach,  admonishes  them  to  be  wise  and  gentle,  in 
the  remarkable  words  :  "  Be  ye  wise  as  serpents  and  harm- 
less as  doves."  Did  you,  whose  profession  it  is  to  instill 
knowledge,  ever  think  that,  reasoning  from  a  literal  inter- 
pretation of  the  scriptures,  it  was  by  the  evil  one  know- 
ledge became  the  heritage  of  our  race,  and  that  you  are 
laboring  to  advance  his  work  I  Strange  paradox,  is  it  not, 
that  to  you  'tis  given  to  put  the  forbidden  fruit  to  the  lips 
of  inncocent  youth  ?  According  to  this  literal  interpreta- 
tion again,  God  placed  the  knowledge  of  evil,  before  our 
first  parents,  commanding  them  not  to  eat,  for  fear  they 
become  as  gods ;  and  if  he  had  not  countermanded  his  own 
order,  or  the  evil  one  persuaded  Eve  to  disobey,  we,  her 
offspring,  would  have  had  no  ray  of  knowledge ;  but  by 
our  first  mother's  disobedience  and  fearful  sacrifice,  the 
possibility  of  attaining  knowledge  became  a  heritage  of 
our  race.  A  grand  and  noble  heritage,  no  matter  who 
made  it  possible.  She,  by  eating,  invoked  knowledge  which 
is  at  once  an  angel  of  light  and  demon  of  evil,  for  the  fruit 
was  of  good  and  evil,  two  great  forces  which,  in  turn,  rule 
the  destiny  of  the  world.  Ah !  how  eagerly  we,  her  de- 
scendants, eat  the  fruit  of  that  awful  tree  of  knowledge  and 
of  life,  which  from  the  beginning  has  tempted  all  mankind, 
and  though  it  often  leaves  a  bitter  taste,  yet  we  long  to  eat 
and  live. 


88  KNOWLEDGE. 

How  fair  to  our  first  parents  must  have  appeared  Eden, 
when  a  knowledge  of  its  wonders  and  possibilities  burst  in 
upon  their  ignorance,  when  they  were  leaving  it  forever ! 
How  often  in  all  the  ages  since  then  have  their  descendants 
awakened  to  the  realities  of  paradise,  only  to  behold  its 
glories  fade  away  like  dying  colors  from  beautiful  dreams! 
And,  just  as  they  realize  it  is  Eden,  adverse  fate  bids  them 
wander  forth,  where  too  often  thorns  and  thistles  curse  the 
ground.  But  though  exiled  from  that  Eden  of  beauty, 
have  we  not  gained  the  far  more  desirable  Eden  of  possi- 
bilities to  aspiring  genius,  that  that  taste  made  possible  to 
man  ?  It  is  through  travail  and  anguish  of  soul  that  know- 
ledge was  born,  as  were  Eve's  children  ;  yet  is  it  not  better 
to  have  lost  an  Eden  of  ignorance  and  gained  an  Eden  of 
knowledge  ?  For  the  loss  of  that  paradise  made  the  nobler 
Eden  possible.  Then,  better  knowledge  and  anguish  than 
paradise  and  ignorance. 

Though  the  original  tree  of  knowledge  was  planted  in 
Eden,  it  has  taken  root  in  every  land,  and  its  seeds  find  all 
soils  congenial,  springing  up  in  light  and  beauty,  dispelling 
mystery  after  mystery,  growing  fairer  and  more  beautiful 
than  when  in  Eden.  And,  though  we  are  sometimes  in- 
timidated by  the  flaming  sword  of  ignorance,  which  would 
keep  us  from  gathering  its  precious  fruits,  yet  we  may  eat 
and  live.  I  believe  with  Swedenborg  that  the  whole  story 
of  the  Garden  of  Eden  is  a  beautiful  allegory,  and  nothing 
more,  and  if  we  thus  believe  and  give  it  a  spiritual  inter- 
pretation, obstacles  will  be  removed  and  we  may  feel  the 
force  of  its  illustrations,  and  lose  none  of  its  beauties  or 
truths.  Study  and  thought  brings  form  out  of  the  chaos 
and  confusion  of  ideas.  What  poetry  in  the  idea  of  com- 


KNOWLEDGE.  89 

paring  knowledge  to  a  tree  which  branches  out  in  all  direc- 
tions, with  its  branches  crowned  with  leaves,  flowers  and 
fruits,  which,  as  the  ages  roll  on,  beneath  suns,  storms 
and  calms  increase  in  size,  beauty  and  strength.  Wisdom 
assures  us  if  we  eat  we  shall  not  surely  die,  but  progress  to 
i  in  mortal  life.  Ah!  there  are  so  many  things  which  we  can- 
not prove  to  be  so,  yet  which  we  do  not  believe  or  under- 
stand! There  is  nothing  in  all  the  realm  of  animal  life  that 
comes  into  life  as  destitute  of  knowledge  as  man,  and  noth- 
ing can  compare  with  him  in  the  possibilities  of  attainment. 
In  this  life,  by  knowledge,  he  may  become  the  demi-god, 
and  what  development  may  crown  progression  in  the  life 
that  continues  beyond  the  grave,  "hath  not  entered  into 
the  heart  of  man." 

If  Plato's  doctrine  of  Anemnesis  were  true,  and  our 
knowledge  is  but  'the  reminiscence  of  ideas  contracted  in 
another  and  prior  existence,  there  would  be  no  need  of 
teachers,  for  we  would  gradually  remember  all  that  is  ap- 
portioned for  us  to  know,  without  effort  on  our  part. 
While  this  is  not  the  accepted  doctrine,  we  sometimes  wit- 
ness such  seeming  proofs  of  intuitive  knowledge  that  we 
are  almost  startled  out  of  our  established  belief.  For 
things  do  often  come  to  us  by  intuition,  and  although 
intuition  is  not  knowledge,  we  often  mistake  it  for  it. 
Intuition  is  an  understanding  of  something  without  effort 
on  our  part,  or  the  part  of  others  to  enlighten  us.  Whence 
comes  it  I  We  often  arrive  at  truth  without  any  previous 
preparation  of  knowledge  that  leads  up  to  it.  This  intui- 
tive knowledge  comes  to  us  at  times,  opening  glimpses  of  that 
life  that  lies  beyond  ;  a  something  truer,  yet  less  tangible,  a 


90  KNOWLEDGE. 

destiny  to  which  we  are  inevitably  hastening,  which  is  our 
abiding  place ;  a  something  which  theology,  which  is  full 
of  glaring  contradictions,  does  not  reach  or  teach,  and  the 
knowledge  of  which  we  have  not  yet  attained,  but  which  the 
soul  does  understand;  and  by  which  it  somehow  comx>rehends 
that  eternity,  with  all  its  vastness,  and  immortality  is  ours. 
This  is  why  the  problem  of  futurity  occupies  the  most  of 
the  best  thought  of  mankind.  This  knowledge  hangs  over 
a  wise  man  as  some  brilliant  sunset  cloud  hangs  in  splendor 
over  a  high  mountain  peak  with  the  sun  shining  through 
it.  It  is  a  cloud,  yet  of  glory,  not  of  darkness,  which 
speaks  of  more  than  visible  beauty.  It  unfolds  beatific 
visions  that  exalt  the  soul  to  a  state  that  is  above,  and  more 
than  place.  What  intuition  is  to  man,  instinct  is  to  animals. 
Even  the  lower  orders  of  mankind  have  instinctive  or  intu- 
itive knowledge  to  perceive  atmospheric  changes  and  phen- 
omena— the  power  to  understand  the  voices  of  beasts  and 
birds — instinctively  reading  in  nature  what  science  reveals 
in  his  more  intellectual  brother.  This  offers  a  strange  vista 
to  speculative  reverie.  Knowledge  is  a  mighty  rock  in  a 
weary  land;  and  to  teachers  'tis  permitted  to  smite  this 
rock,  and  from  it  gush  fountains  of  living  waters  which 
form  rivers  of  wisdom,  flowing  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the 
earth,  carrying  immortal  life  to  the  souls  of  men. 

The  river  of  science  flows  in  a  deep,  straight  course, 
searching  out  the  hidden  mysteries  and  demonstrating  facts, 
while  truth  builds  her  defenses  on  its  shores,  and  art  rears 
fair  palaces  and  calmly  enjoys  the  result  of  labor  and  re- 
search. History,  with  its  broad  stream,  bringing  knowl- 
edge down  through  the  vanquished  centuries,  revealing 
many  lost  arts  which  avail  us  much  in  these  later  days. 


KNOWLEDGE.  91 

Mysteries  which  magicians  have  left  behind  them —secrets 
for  ages  undusted— that  we  may  read  the  records  of  the 
past.  Experience  builds  citadels  upon  these  heights. 

Flowing  parallel  to  history  is  the  stream  of  politics.  Its 
crimson  billows  cast  wrecks  upon  the  strand,  and  the 
moaning  waves  strangely  blend  the  tones  of  grand,  martial 
music  with  the  discord  of  despair  and  disappointment,  for 
it  is  a  treacherous  tide.  Along  its  winding  shores  war 
builds  her  forts,  and  there  are  fields  of  carnage  and  of  blood 
and  the  dark  fortress  of  envy,  from  which  fly  the  poisoned 
shafts  of  malice,  falsehood  and  revenge ;  and  there  are 
many  graves  in  which  lie  ambition,  glory  and  renown,  with 
all  their  brilliant  dreams.  Opposite  to  this,  from  the  rock, 
of  knowledge,  gush  the  sweet  fountains  of  poetry  and  music, 
singing  on  their  way  through  fair  secluded  dells,  where 
there  are  moss-crowned  rocks,  clinging  vines,  fragrant 
flowers,  and  ferns,  and  singing  birds.  In  their  shining 
waves  of  light  are  mirrored  the  azure  sky,  golden  sunshine 
and  fleecy  clouds ;  while  youth,  beauty,  laughter  and  joy 
stray  along  the  verdant  shores,  keeping  time  to  the  music 
of  the  merry  spray  and  weaving  garlands  to  crown  their 
radient  brows.  There  is  one  deep,  turbid  stream,  the 
greatest  of  them  all.  The  river  of  theology,  whose  dark 
waves  have  engulfed  much  of  the  best  and  ablest  thought 
of  the  minds  of  men.  Upon  its  shores  strong  fortresses  are 
built ;  they  are  prisons  and  madhouses  and  their  inmates 
have  been  sages,  philosophers  and  priests — men  of  knowl- 
edge, yet  lacking  in  wisdom.  Theology  is  a  wierd  and 
tortuous  stream,  and  though  sometimes  flowing  parallel  to 
the  river  of  wisdom,  it  is  at  last  lost  in  the  wild  mad  sea  of 
speculation  and  of  doubt ;  beneath  whose  seething  waters 


92  KNOWLEDGE. 

many  a  fair  bark  is  sunk  which  stranded  on  the  rocks  of 
doctrine  and  debate.  Not  far  from  this  flows  a  deep  stream, 
calm,  clear  and  beautiful.  Majestically  it  sweeps  through 
stately  forests,  extending  plains  and  lofty  mountains  5  and 
the  fair  cities  of  science,  temperance  and  truth,  are  built 
upon  its  shore.  It  is  fed  by  the  overliving  fountains  of 
honor,  morality,  justice,  mercy  and  divine  love.  The 
music  of  its  waves  send  forth  hymns  of  true  patrotism,  love 
of  country  and  of  home ;  and  the  sweet  songs  of  faith  and 
immortality  float  upward  upon  strong  white  wings,  bearing 
the  soul  away  on  pure  melody  above  this  world  of  longing 
and  of  hope,  until  it  rises  to  meet  that  world  of  glory  and 
fulfillment.  Upon  these  shores  faith,  hope  and  security  have 
reared  their  white  temples,  which  shall  ever  represent  a 
living  religion  which  has  but  three  words  for  its  creed  : 
Love,  Justice,  Immortality.  This  is  the  river  of  wisdom, 
and  flows  into  the  great  ocean  of  eternal  peace. 

Teachers,  these  are  the  streams  flowing  from  the  rock  of 
knowledge,  whose  fountains  you  unseal.  "Blessed  are 
ye  that  sow  beside  all  waters."  Out  there  you  hear  the 
ocean  waves  moaning,  surging,  thundering  forevermore. 
You  cannot  stay  the  rushing  tides  that  come  and  go — ebb 
and  flow  until  time  shall  be  no  more  ;  nor  the  great  river  of 
the  west,  the  mighty  Columbia,  pouring  her  floods  into  that 
vast,  boundless  sea  ;  so  shall  knowledge  pour  her  deep,  ex- 
haustless  stream  into  futurity,  and  all  the  combined  forces 
of  opposition,  ignorance  and  fear  shall  have  no  power  to 
stay  the  onward  rushing,  overwhelming  flood.  Wafted 
back  to  us  from  the  unexplored  shores  across  that  sea — 
softly  whispering  through  the  rose-marine  spirit  of  the 
mist — intuitive  knowledge  reveals  the  throne  of  eternal 


KNOWLEDGE.  93 

wisdom,  from  which  flows  the  pure  river  of  life,  on  whose 
bright  shores  grow  the  trees  of  knowledge  and  of  life 
immortal,  which  bear  no  fruit  of  sin,  but  whose  leaves  are 
for  the  healing  of  all  the  nations. 


A   BABY. 


A   BABY. 

Dead  !  Only  a  baby,  a  little  wee  baby  —  not  much  loss 
to  this  great  world  with  its  teeming  millions.  Nothing, 
did  you  say  f  Ah,  what  a  world  of  hopes,  fears  and  possi- 
bilities clustered  around  its  frail  life. 

To  the  young  mother  who,  with  streaming  eyes  and  heav- 
ing breast,  looks  for  the  last  time  upon  that  beautiful,  deli- 
cate flower,  it  is  much.  O  God!  it  is  everything  —  the 
ruthless  sundering  of  the  dearest  ties  of  earth.  Pain  is 
said  to  be  the  deepest,  most  real  thing  in  our  natures.  The 
strongest  linkl  between  mother  and  child  is  the  union  of 
keenest  physical  pain  and  tenderest  love;  consequently 
when  death  takes  the  little  one,  'tis  the  mother  who  feels  r>  ^//~. 
the  keenest  anguish.  Death  cuts  short  an  infinity  of  possi- 
bilities, when  he  breaks  the  fragile  bud  from  the  parent 
stem. 

Only  a  baby;  yet  what  untold  probabilities  of  suffering, 
of  sacrifice,  of  sin,  of  goodness,  of  all  the  emotions  of  life 
that  wear  the  heart  out  with  conflicts,  has  it  escaped.  To 
those  who  live  the  allotted  time  on  earth,  the  crown  of 
true  nobility  is  gained  only  by  conflict,  yet  this  frail  one 
has  "gained  the  crown  without  the  conflict." 

Only  a  baby ;  an  immortal  soul  awakened  out  of  the  vast 
eternity  of  silence,  to  sleep  never  more,  but  go  on,  and  on, 
through  the  great  eternity  of  blessedness. 

This  busy  world  pauses  not  when  its  greatest  geniuses, 


98  ONLY    A    BABY. 

its  most  illustrious  sons  and  daughters  leave  it,  and  there 
is  not  even  one  little  ripple  outside  of  a  very  few  hearts, 
when  "only  a  baby,"  the  merest  speck  of  humanity — a 
passing  breath  of  immortality  hovering  for  such  a  little 
time  between  the  "two  eternities,"  drops  out  into  the 
boundless,  fathomless  sea.  But  the  delicate,  snowy  bud, 
with  all  its  possibilities  of  wondrous  beauty  and  fragrance, 
is  transplanted  to  the  Paradise  of  God.  And  though  you 
shall  miss  the  affection,  the  little  cunning  ways,  and  all 
that  promised  to  pervade  the  atmosphere  of  home,  like  the 
perfume  of  a  lovely  rose,  yet  up  there  she  is  nourished  by 
the  waters  of  life,  and  the  fruit  of  the  Tree  of  Life.  Thy 
little  one  is  like  a  fragile  flower  in  a  golden  vase,  watered 
by  the  everlasting  fountains  of  divine  love. 

Though  this  lesson  of  faith  may  be  learned  through  bitter 
anguish,  yet  in  his  own  good  time  the  Father's  loving  pur- 
pose shall  be  revealed  to  thee.  As  the  iron  anchor  sinks 
through  slime  and  mud  far  below  the  surface  and  holds  the  A  / 
stately  ship  secure  upon  the  tempestuous  waves  above,  so  ^ 
Athe  anchor  faith  sinks  through  wretchedness  and  despair 
into  the  soul,  holding  it  safe,  and  even  though  the  day  is 
dark  and  the  hour  bitter,  God's  light  will  break  through  the 
clouds  and  tears,  and  illumine  the  trusting  heart  with  undy- 
ing rays  of  peace  and  blessedness.  So  we  brush  aside  the  dew 
of  tears^and  welcome  the  sunlight  of  faith,  even  the  little 
shining  ray  that  "only  a  baby"  leaves  on  its  passage  to  the 
skies.  As  we  mourn  over  thesQ  incompleted  lives  we  won- 
der why  (since  they  biitjjm$ifer< our  hopes )  they  were  sent ; 
but  if  our  eyes  be  but  touched  by  the  divine  light,  we  may 
see  how  these  unfinished  lives  were  interwoven  into,  and 
influence  our  own,  so  differently,  yet,  with  purer  influence 


ONLY    A    BABY.  99 

than  if  they  had  fulfilled  the  allotted  earthly  years,  for 
lives  are  not  numbered  by  years,  but  by  influence,  and  the 
guidance  of  "only  a  baby'1  in  the  spirit  realmynay  lead  us 
in  straighter  ways,  more  peaceful  paths,  than  it  would  if 
left  to  walk  earth's  ways  and  experience  its  temptations. 
For  that  life  entering  there,  yet  remembered  here,  will  be 
like  a  star  whose  light  emanates  from  that  world  am!  irra- 
diates this,  leading  and  guiding  us  to  those  many  mansions, 
all  beautiful,  in  the  city  of  our  God,  where  the  doors  open 
outward  for  all  God's  children,  from  whence  they  may  de- 
scend to  us,  and  where  we  too  may  enter  in  and  dwell  with 
them. 

Thank  God  the  door  of  human  faith  opens  toward  hea- 
ven, the  door  of  divine  love  opens  toward  earth.  So  that 
uur  human  fajth  and  longing  meets  divine  love  and  fulfill- 
ment,* and  to  the  trusting  heart  may  come/God's  "  peace 
that  passeth  understanding"  and  the  soul  be  made  strong 
and  brave. 


THOUGHTS 


THE  JESTHETIC: 


AN   ADDRESS 


Delivered  before  the  Musical  Alumni,  Willamette 
University,  June  9,  1887. 


BY  MRS.  OLIYE  S.  ENGLAND. 


SALEM,  OREGON  : 
E.  M.  WAITE,  STEAM  PRINTER  AND  BOOKBINPER. 

1887  . 


THOUGHTS 


UPON 


THE  ESTHETIC 


AM   ADDRESS 


Delivered  before  the  Musical  Alumni,  Willamette 
University,  June  9,  1887. 


BY  MRS.  OLIVE  S.  ENGLAND. 


SALEM,  OREGON  : 

E.  M.  WAITE,  STEAM  PRINTER  AND  BOOKBINDER. 
1887. 


i>HE  QDDRESS. 


The  aesthetic  really  means  all  that  reaches  and  contributes  to  the 
higher  life  of  man  through  the  sensibilities  and  emotions  rather 
than  the  intellectual  faculties.  Progressive  civilization  may  be 
miaucd  by  the  degree  of  attention  paid  to  objects  of  refined  beauty 
and  pure  elevating  loveliness.  A  noted  historian  said  that  "The 
history  of  arts  and  sciences  is  the  history  of  the  powers  of  the 
human  mind,  and  their  inventors  have  labored  for  all  ages  of  the 
world,  have  provided  at  a  great  distance  for  all  our  occasions."  He 
placed  music  sixth  in  the  ratio  of  importance.  That  it  should  rank 
as  one  of  the  most  important  and  best  means  of  intellectual  develop- 
ment, none  deny.  It  is  a  very  ancient  study.  Its  history,  like  that 
of  other  arts,  sciences  and  religions  being  lost  in  ancient  mythologies. 

Some  authorities  claim  that  man  first  learned  music  from  warb- 
ling birds.  All  authorities  agree  that  the  first  musical  instrument 
was  the  shell  of  a  tortoise.  Mythology  tells  us  this  was  made  into 
a  musical  instrument  by  the  infant  Hermes,  who,  when  but  four 
hours  old  took  a  walk  and  seeing  a  tortoise  said,  "Thou  slowly 
crawlest,  now  there  is  no  use  in  thee,  thou  shalt  die  and  sing  for- 
ever." 80  he  killed  it  and  across  the  shell  he  stretched  strings 
made  of  oxhide,  thus  making  the  first  lyre.  This  he  gave  to  Apollo 
saying,  "To  those  who  touch  it  not  knowing  how  to  draw  forth  its 
speech  it  will  babble  strange  nonsense  and  rave  with  uncertain 
moan  ings,  but  thy  knowledge  is  born  with  thee  and  my  lyre  be- 
comes thine."  At  the  touch  of  Apollo's  hand,  waves  of  such  sweet 
sounds  rolled  forth  that  the  trees  bent  to  listen.  Pythagoras  taught 
that  the  world  was  formed  by  harmony  of  sound.  He  annexed 
certain  peculiar  sounds  to  the  rolling  spheres,  and  one  rule  laid 
down  for  his^  disciples  was  to  adore  the  whispering  wind.  He  also 
taught  that  the  distance  of  the  celestial  spheres  from  the  earth  cor- 


4  Thoughts   upon   Tin 

responds  to  the  proportion  of  notes  in  a  musical  scale.  He  and 
Plato  both  believed  "everything  musical  of  divine  origin  ;"  that 
God  gave  us  this  corrective  of  soul  and  body  so  that  our  powers 
and  impulses  should  be  harmonized  into  mutual  assistance  and 
perfect  unison.  Pythagoras  made  use  of  music  to  tranquilize  his 
mind,  and  it  was  the  custom  of  his  disciples  when  rising  from  bed 
to  awaken  the  mind  with  music  in  order  to  render  them  more  fit 
for  the  duties  of  the  day,  and  also  before  retiring  for  the  night  to 
calm  their  thoughts  before  they  slept.  How  poetic  the  thought  of 
being  lulled  to  dreams  and  rest,  and  awakened  to  duty  by  sweet 
melodies  which  softens  and  throws  a  charm  over  the  stern  realities 
of  life,  and  tranquilizes  the  mind  for  the  reception  of  truth.  On 
account  of  the  wisdom  and  temperance  of  Pythagoras,  his  disciples 
called  him  the  son  of  God,  (though  this  was  about  600  years  before 
Christ's  time)  they  said  he  was  the  only  mortal  by  the  gods  allowed 
to  hear  the  "  music  of  the  spheres."  Whether  or  not  this  was  true 
he  must  have  heard  divine  notes  of  truth  for  he  surely  possessed 
the  true  idea  of  the  solar  system,  which,  afterwards  revived  by 
Copernicus,  was  established  by  Newton,  and  many  in  the  world 
to-day  are  beginning  to  accept  his  idea  of  God.  In  the  language  of 
another  I  would  ask,  "Who,  acquainted  with  the  laws  of  sound 
can  positively  declare  that  this  was  impossible,  for  Pythagoras 
with  swelling  soul  to  catch  the  harmoniously  blended  notes  pro- 
duced by  the  planets  plunging  through  space.  Is  it  not  scientifically 
demonstrated  that  there  is  in  the  movement  of  soundwaves  a  max- 
imum and  minimum  limit  above  and  below  which  the  mortal  ear 
ceases  to  receive  vibrations  ?  Then  what  a  universe  of  harmonies 
unknown  to  human  sensibilities,  and  philosophies  may  be  filling  all 
the  circling  spheres  with  melodies."  We  know  there  are  certain 
states  or  conditions  when  mortal  ears  may  literally  hear — it  may  be 
the  music  of  the  spheres.  Often  when  death  is  near  and  the  spirit 
is  just  leaving  its  earthly  house,  doth  the  ears  by  some  occult  pro- 
cess by  us  not  understood— attuned  to  higher  and  holier  melodies, 
catch  heavenly  tones  of  other  worlds  than  ours,  even  while  the 
lips  have  power  to  tell  of  its  seraphic  harmonies. 

It  is  said  that  the  number  of  really  great  musicians  is  small  in 
comparison  with  the  greatness  of  men  in  other  vocations.     One  rea- 


npnn     Tin     ./•>//,  r/,V.  5 

son  may  be,  because  of  the  infinite  painstaking  and  constant 
practice  required  to  keep  up  to  any  standard  of  excellence,  for  it  is 
an  exacting  tyrant  with  all  its  allurements,  and  though  possessing 
the  greatest  and  most  agreeable  influence,  with  the  exception  of 
oratory,  over  the  emotions,  is  the  most  fleeting  of  all  accomplish- 
ments and  its  influence  more  unsubstantial  than  a  dream,  there  is 
nothing  to  fix  its  modulations,  nothing  remains  to  attest  its  charms 
and  quality,  nothincj  !  And  we  arouse  from  its  spell  vaguely  won- 
dering what  power  bewitched  us.  Yet  its  sweet  tones  are  not  lost, 
and  though  fleeting,  each  time  'tis  heard  it  leaves  the  soul  of  a  bet- 
ter, different  quality  than  it  was  before  this  sense  of  grandeur  per- 
vaded it.  It  awakens  in  the  spiritual  nature  the  chords  already 
there  belonging  to  the  soul,  and  all  that  benefits  and  betters  it  will 
work  continually  in  ever  new  and  grander  ways,  strengthening, 
refining  and  advancing  it.  Music  is  the  only  passion  sure  of  being 
gratified  in  heaven.  In  other  branches  supreme  excellence  appeals 
directly  to  our  appreciation,  but  the  nearer  perfection  music  attains 
the  more  cultivation  is  required  to  appreciate  its  beauties.  Of  all 
the  arts  and  science  anciently,  music  was  most  generally  cultivated. 
It  was  used  at  their  solemn  sacrifices,  festivals,  and  even  at  their 
meals.  The  Jews  uttered  their  prophesies  in  song  until  prophesy 
came  to  mean  song,  and  to  a  great  extent  the  music  of  a  nation  is 
its  prophesy.  The  world  has  been  prone  to  take  up  the  Jewish 
hymns,  poems  and  songs,  and  build  a  religious  theory  out  of  them. 
In  our  interpretation  of  these  we  do  them  and  ourselves  injustice. 
Supposing  two  or  three  thousand  years  hence  our  songs  were  as  lit- 
erally interpreted  as  are  theirs,  think  what  a  fearful  jumble  we 
would  be  in  to  literally  interpret  our  contemporary  poets.  We  have 
our  minstrel  songs,  (and  they  are  suited  to  those  who  sing  them) 
our  ballads,  hymns,  war  and  salvation  army  songs.  Supposing 
future  generations  would  collect  these  into  a  book  and  use  them  for 
the  foundation  of  a  theological  system,  and  ostracise  those  who  did 
not  receive  them  as  truth.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  in  future  cen- 
turies they  will  not  be  placed  as  a  rule  of  life  in  the  hands  of  a  peo- 
,  pie  ignorant  of  their  true  significance.  For  in  trying  to  follow 
them  and  their  future  expounders  they  will  be  divided  into  more 
sects  than  are  the  followers  of  the  Jewish  psalms  now,  and  our 


6  ThtHujliix    upon   The  ^Esthetic. 

enlightenment  is  considered  superior,  to  theirs.  Let  those  hymns, 
poems  and  psalms  represent  their  original  significance  and  there  is 
inspiration  in  them,  but  place  them  entirely  beyond  their  possible 
meanings,  and  there  is  anything  but  inspiration  in  them. 

Music  may  very  properly  be  divided  into  the  scientific  and 
emotional.  The  scientific  may  be  subdivided  into  head,  hand  and 
heel  music.  Some  who  make  complete  success  of  mechanical  or 
theoretical  music  are  not  endowed  with  the  deep  feeling  and  fine 
imagination  to  be  the  true  interpreters  of  ideal  music,  that  which 
awakens  and  controls  the  emotional  and  spiritual  qualities.  Head 
music  consists  of  theory,  and  is  certainly  intellectual.  While  one 
may  be  an  acknowledged  success  in  this,  and  it  is  eminently  nec- 
essary, yet,  if  music  consists  more  of  agreeable  tones  than  deep 
theories  or  fine  execution,  he  is  not  a  success.  To  become  a  fine 
hand  musician  (for  one  may  be  this  without  theory)  requires  but  an 
ordinary  mind,  robust  health  to  endure  the  mechanical  drill  and 
skillful  fingers.  There  is  also  great  facination  in  that  quality  of 
music  which  seems  to  lend  wings  to  the  heels,  and  one  may  succeed 
in  this  without  much  brain  capacity.  In  fact,  lightness  of  head  is 
apt  to  promote  lightness  of  heels.  This  branch  may  cultivate  grace 
of  motion  and  some  society  success,  yet  not  be  much  of  a  cultivator 
of  either  physical  or  intellectual  power.  Still  there  is  much  to  ad- 
mire in  head,  hand  and  heel  music,  especially  when  the  art  is  so 
consumate  as  to  conceal  all  trace  of  effort.  But  heart,  or  emotional 
music  must  be  deeper  than  the  finger-tips,  above,  beyond  all  theory, 
and  of  that  character  to  which  the  halt,  the  lame  can  respond,  for 
it  strikes  responsive  chords  on  that  complex,  yet  finely  strung  in- 
strument, the  human  heart,  and  it  is  not  always  the  whitest,  best 
trained  fingers  that  bring  forth  its  sweetest  tones.  The  heart  is 
very  sensitive  to  the  influence  of  the  musician  and  quick  to  discern 
the  true  from  the  fiilse,  which  consists  not  so  much  in  skill  as  inten- 
sity of  feeling,  to  which  magic  spell  our  souls  respond,  while  we 
have  only  an  intellectual  admiration  for  the  merely  scientific. 
Doubtless  the  scientific  is  as  true  as  the  inspirational,  and  we  claim 
not  the  superiority  of  one  over  the  other,  but  they  are  different 
gifts.  Isms  and  theories  fail  to  sound  the  depths  of  the  heart,  for 
it  must  be  sounded  by  the  emotions,  and  it  is  the  peculiarity  of 


Tlnnif/hfs     tljtoil     77/r     .fcfhcfic,  7 

musk'ul  influence  that  it  is  emotional,  having  hut  little  in  common 
with  the  practical.  Not  that  we  should  cultivate  the  emotional  to 
the  exclusion  of  the  practical,  for  practical  experiences  are  ours 
everyday,  and  we  must  ho  familiar  with  their  meanings,  but  there 
arc  hut  few  who  are  expounders  and  interpreters  of  the  emotions. 
This  perceptive  music  partakes  of  the  nature  of  religion,  and  if  not 
religion,  is  surely  a  groat  leap  toward  it,  for  both  mnsic  and  religion 
are  closely  allied  branches  of  the  science  of  the  soul,  and  through 
inspiration  music  infHfirrfy  imparts  the  knowledge  that  science 
demonstrates  &nd  ennobles  us,  and  each  ennobling  impression  we 
receive,  from  irlmt'-rcr  source,  is  a  shining  link  in  immortal  inspira- 
tion. Inspiration  sustains  the  same  relation  to  music  as  a  science 
as  the  soul  does  to  the  body.  While  the  science  of  harmony  is  the 
perfect  arrangement  of  music,  the  melody  is  the  soul  running  all 
through  it,  and  we  enjoy  it  according  to  the  mood  we  are  in,  yet  it 
often  changes  the  mood.  If  we  understood  the  substance  and 
structure  of  our  souls  wo  might  be  able  to  account  for  the  strange 
emotions,  moods  and  inconsistencies  which  take  possession  of  them. 
Music  awakens  all  the  faculties,  the  most  stirring  powers  of  the 
heart  are  exerted  at  its  wondrous  bidding,  causing  the  dancer  to 
keep  step,  arousing  the  warrior  to  go  bravely  forth  to  battle,  and 
teaching  religion  to  sing  anthems  of  praise  and  adoration.  We 
concede  that  in  many  ways  it  has  not  the  greatness  and  splendor  of 
oratory,  for  nothing  will  exceed  eloquence  for  lasting  impressions, 
nor  the  immortality  of  architecture  and  sculpture,  the  beauty  of 
painting,  nor  the  practical  truth  of  science.  Yet  its  claims  to  great- 
ness consists  in  wider  and  more  varied  influence.  There  are  musi- 
cal tones  everywhere.  Even  in  nature's  work-a-day  worldi  The 
shining  brook,  pearly  cascade  and  rushing  waterfall,  are  ever  waltz- 
ing, whirling  and  dancing  to  their  own  music.  Nature's  grander, 
deeper  chords  are  struck  by  the  thunder-tones,  whose  deep  bass 
voices  sounding  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to  heaven,  cause 
no  wonder  that  ignorance  and  superstition  have  believed  such  tones 
proclaimed  God's  wrath.  Or,  in  the  mysterious  waves  that  bring 
their  messages  from  sea  to  land,  and  carries  the  answer  from  land 
to  sea  on  the  flowing  and  ebbing  tides.  But  we  hear  the  softer, 
gentler  tones  in  the  whispering  breeze,  the  song  of  birds,  the 


8  VY/O///////X    iij)on    The 

^Eolian  harp,  the  laughter  of  a  child.  Every  tone  of  the  human 
voice,  every  sound  of  Nature  moves  to  the  harmony  of  musical  vi- 
brations, touching  some  string  of  the  harps  of  God.  The  immortal 
soul  has  its  divine  harmonies  unheard  by  mortal  ears,  for  music  is 
indeed  an  invisible  angel  who  cannot  be  clasped  with  material 
hands,  but  whose  shining  drapery  is  illusive1  as  azure  clouds  of 
sunlight. 

There  is  that  in  all  aesthetic  branches  which  eludes  methods  and 
theories,  and  only  reaches  or  is  reached  by  intuition.  While  all  the 
arts,  sciences  and  philosophies  in  their  varied  and  beautiful  forms 
exalt  the  spirit,  yet  it  is  through  the  medium  of  sound  that  Nature 
more  directly  appeals  to  the  deeper  emotional  qualities.  And  the 
climax  of  spiritual  exaltation  is  reached  quickest  and  surest 
through  music,  oratory  and  poetry.  Sound  and  sight  are  the 
greatest  of  the  five  senses,  and  sound  is  greater  than  sight,  not  for 
practical,  physical  purposes  certainly,  but  for  eternal  spiritual  cul- 
tivation. What  the  ear  hears  is  in  its  influence  like  the  perfume  of 
the  flower,  sending  the  elixir  of  life  through  and  exalting  the  sen- 
sibilities by  a  more  subtle  sense  than  the  eye  possesses.  The 
aesthetic  may  be  divided  into  two  groups  of  threes.  Those  which 
cultivate  and  appeal  to  the  soul  by  sight,  and  those  which  influ- 
ence by  sound.  Each  group  forms  a  perfect  and  separate  chord, 
and  yet  any  tone  of  either  chord  blends  into  perfect  harmony  with 
all  the  others.  First,  we  shall  consider  those  of  sight,  which  are 
sculpture,  architecture  and  painting.  These  form  a  grand  chord, 
and  are  for  outward  adorning,  so  the  eye  reveals  them  to  the  soul. 
Exterior  things  do  indeed  dignify  and  adorn  us,  but  the  interior 
things  which  make  of  us  angel  or  demon. 

Those  which  are  for  the  inward  furnishing,  and  whose  meaning 
is  conveyed  to  the  spirit  by  sound,  or  by  the  ear,  are  oratory,  poetry 
and  music.  These  are  three  of  the  grandest  tones  in  the  universe, 
and  are  exceeded  by  but  one  soul  senstf,  and  that  is  intuition,  and 
through  the  perceptives  when  they  partake  of  inspiration  these  be- 
come intuition  and  intuition  is  GOD.  This  is  not  mere  sentiment. 
It  is  truth,  and  one  of  the  most  important  though  least  understood 
of  all  truths.  These  two  grand  chords  acts  as  foils,  brightening  and 


77/r  J^llictic.  9 

not  diminishing  OIK-  the  luster  and  glory  of  the  other.  The  one  is 
art,  tlu-  other  is  nature.  Kaeh  tone  of  these  chords  like  stars  differ 
only  in  glory,  deriving  their  light  from  the  same  source  and  send- 
ing it  out  on  the  st?me  great  mission  of  intellectual  light  and 
heavenly  beauty.  To  say  that  a  mysterious  sympathy  pervades 
and  unites  them  is  to  say  no  new  things.  Neither  do  we  under- 
stand why,  or  what  it  is.  Yet  if  a  person  excel  in  one  of  these  in 
the  emotional  sense,  he  has,  if  not  great  talent,  at  least  taste  for  all. 
To  the  true  painter  the  spirits  of  architecture  and  sculpture  calls. 
To  the  heart  musician  the  spirit  of  poetry  and  oratory  sing  beau- 
tiful songs — they  commune  together.  Having  genius  for  the 
a'sthc  tie  is  to  be  possessed  of  a  living  impetuosity,  a  beautiful  dis- 
order of  thought  which  infinitely  transcends  the  regularities  of 
logic  or  studied  art.  As  its  expression  gushes  forth  from  the  pent 
up  fountains  of  song,  it  reveals  originality,  excites  the  imagination, 
soothing  the  passions  into  pure  and  deep  emotions,  or,  all  com- 
bined, speak  by  the  outpourings  of  either,  while  all  answer  that 
high  behest  of  the  infinite,  and  are  the  audible  voices  of  invisible 
things,  in  which  God  speaks  in  the  language  of  emotions,  which 
are  the  rounds  of  the  ladder  of  thought,  by  which  we  ascend  to 
Him  and  his  angels  descend  to  us.  Some  spirits  live  in  the  clouds 
and  are  filled  with  dreams ;  they  do  not  descend  to  the  earthly,  yet 
more  solid  footing  of  hill,  mountain,  rock,  wood  and  stream.  Well, 
the  gold-tinted  clouds,  far  azure-fields  of  ether,  are  for  the  light  and 
airy  wings  of  imagination — and  spirit  must  soar  ;  but  we  are  pos- 
sessed of  two  natures,  and  though  the  spirit  deal  with  the  invisible, 
the  physical  must  descend  to  the  practical.  Yet  both  are  actual ; 
but  both  are  not  tangible.  The  tangible  is  the  mortal,  dying,  rep- 
resented by  things  seen  ;  but  things  heard  are  of  the  same  substance 
as  thought  or  inspiration,  and  are  part  of  the  ever-living  soul, 
changing,  progressing  forever,  causing  the  doors  of  the  soul  to  open 
and  the  sweet  angels,  poetry  and  song  enter  in.  These  voices  of 
Nature  must  speak.  They  awaken  new  hopes  and  arouse  old 
memories,  and  we  discern  the  Divine  language  in  its  elements, 
for  of  such  is  the  Great  Eternal  Soul.  Herein  lies  the  difference 
between  the  mechanical  and  inspired.  You  arid  I  have  felt  the 
power  of  inspiration,  for  it  is  a  grander,  nobler  quality  now  than 


10  Thoughts   upon   The 

ever  before.  It  speaks  in  the  language  that  Nature  instills  in 
hearts,  and  increases  in  proportion  to  intellectual  development  and 
appreciation,  or,  in  proportion  to  the  ivorhVx  yr«/t  »<  «l  of  it. 
There  are  singers  whose  voices  carry  the  force  of  inspiration,  who 
may  not  have  the  power  of  lungs  and  vocal  organs,  for  lungs  and 
vocal  organs  are  far  from  constituting  the  music  of  the  soul ;  arid 
there  is  a  wide  difference  between  the  forceful  expression  of  nature 
and  that  affectation  which  art  vainly  attempts  to  supply.  Yet,  art 
is  very  capable  of  polishing  the  diamond  that  Nature  makes. 
Some  degree  of  excellence  may  be  attained  by  application  in  all 
aesthetic  branches  except  poetry  and  emotional  music.  The  poet 
and  inspired  musician  must  be  born  with  soul  full  charged  with  its 
great  commission,  and  its  expressions  be  yours  or  mine  by  divine 
inheritance.  Even  that  successful  talent,  determination,  fails  to 
raise  one  much  above  the  common  place  unless  he  bring  from  that 
vague  eternity  from  which  we  come  that  mysterious  power  which 
arouses  the  heart  to  contemplation  of  that  eternity  to  which  we  go. 
We  have  reliefs,  paintings,  statutes  of  the  ancients  with  which  we 
may  compare  our  own,  and  the  history  of  music,  yet  not  one  tone 
of  its  sweet  voices  has  floated  down  over  the  centuries  for  us  to 
judge  its  merits  by.  We  have  the  living,  breathing  principle  in- 
tensified. It  leaves  the  instrument  of  which  it  was  the  soul,  as  the 
soul  leaves  the  body  of  which  it  was  the  immortal  spark.  The  in- 
strument is  destructible,  but  the  sweet  tones  which  pervaded  it  are 
immortal  life.  What  more  fleeting  than  sound  'tis  an  unseen  thing 
like  the  spirit  of  life,  but  by  the  emotions  'tis  appropriated  and 
contributes  to  the  concord  of  the  soul  and  lives,  undying  harmony. 

Human  sympathy  is  born  of  sorrow-,  but  is  the  sweetest  note  ever 
sounded,  and  produces  unison  of  hearts.  After  the  recent  terrible 
mine  explosion  at  Naniomo,  the  horrible  discord  of  disaster,  death 
and  ruin  which  struck  wre  know  not  why,  was  quickly  followed  by 
the  tender  responsive  chord  of  God-like  love  and  sympathy  which 
also  passeth  understanding,  as  human  love  responds  from  all  over 
the  land  with  aid  and  blessing.  There  are  times  when  discords  of 
evil  and  crime  like  those  of  a  Kissane,  or  the  incendiary  who  set 
fire  to  that  palace  of  wondrous  architecture  and  beauty,  Hotel  del 
Monte,  causes  our  faith  in  humanity  to  waver ;  but  we  find  it 


Tin  HI  (/lit*    ii  i  m  it    The  ^Esthetic.  11 

Messed  not  to  hear  these  discords  by  listening  to  sweeter  strains 
that  tell  of  heroes  such  as  Hutson  who  descended  into  the  fearful 
hell-pit  of  the  mine  to  literally  "rescue  the  perishing  "  until  he  lost 
his  life  for  his  fellow  men.  I  know  not  his  creed.  I  do  not  think 
an\ -  (|iiestions  \vere  asked  at  heavens  portal.  The  lowly  Nazarene 
is  there— he  knows  his  own.  And  though  this  man  may  have 
made  no  music  on  earth  sweeter  than  the  creaking  machinery  that 
lowered  him  into  that  chasm  of  fire  and  darkness,  and  though  he 
bore  no  other  token  than  the  bjack  crown  of  deadly  gas  he  wore 
about  his  brow  with  which  the  demon  of  that  pit  had  crowned 
him — yet  crown  more  glorious  could  not  be  worn,  for  the  blackness 
of  the  coal  has  turned  to  diamonds  there.  The  onty  crown  we  will 
ever  wear  must  be  of  earth,  earthy;  and  he  who  sings  the  "music 
of  heaven  "  must  practice  it  here,  for  the  golden  harps  won't  seem 
so  awkward  in  our  hands  if  we  take  a  few  lessons  on  the  human 
harps.  Angel  harpstrings  may  be  swept  by  hands  that  are  rough 
and  red,  but  what  helpfulness  in  the  hand  that  opens  in  ministra- 
tions of  love,  reaching  out  to  lead  "beside  the  still  waters"  the 
weak  and  despondent,  putting  the  harp  of  hope  into  feeble,  tired 
hands,  raising  the  fallen  angels  of  earth  into  light  and  life  here 
and  now.  Such  hands  may  not  be  skillful  on  ordinary  musical  in- 
struments, but  they  lovingly  touch  the  chords  of  thoughtful  ten- 
derness and  fill  this  world  with  notes  of  song.  Such  hands  never 
loosen  their  clasp  on  the  Eternal.  Ah  !  well,  the  world  is  awaken- 
ing to  nobler  ideas  of  angel  harps  and  crowns,  and  the  19th  century 
angels  are  laying  aside  the  old  cracked  instruments  of  praise,  and 
are  beginning  to  sing  the  dear  old  songs  in  new  keys  better  under- 
stood for  the  new  heaven  and  new  earth  of  a  more  rational  under- 
standing and  better  appreciation  of  our  God.  Humanity  is  set 
together  like  different  parts  of  song  or  the  music  of  a  chorus. 
Some  natures  supply  the  sweet  melody,  some  the  deep  toned 
strength  of  bass,  others  the  intermediate  alto  and  tenor,  while  some 
are  the  keynotes  of  the  age  in  which  they  live.  Washington,  Lin- 
coln, Harriet  Beecher  Stowe,  and  even  old  John  Brown  struck  the, 
keynotes  of  physical  freedom,  as  Luther,  Sweedenborg,  Channing 
and  others  have  struck  the  higher  tones  of  mental  freedom  from 
religious  thralldom.  Homer,  Shakspeare,  Milton,  Burns,  Byron, 


12  Thonyht*    upon    The  ^Esthetic. 

touched  the  wild,  impetuous  key  tones  in  poetry  and  song.  Hume, 
Gibbon,  Rollins,  Macauley,  the  deep  toned  chords  of  history. 
Plato,  Socrates,  Pythagoras,  Franklin,  Newton,  Darwin,  Edison, 
have  sounded  true  notes  of  philosophy  and  science.  Alexander, 
Hannibal,  Napoleon,  Grant,  the  harsher  tones  of  war.  Demos- 
thenes, Alcibiades,  Ingersol,  Wendell  Phillips  and  Beecher  aroused 
the  enthusiasm  of  oratory  and  eloquence.  Phidias,  Praxiteles, 
Raphael,  Michael  Angelo,  Titian  and  Turner  have  shown  us  the 
beautiful  in  art.  Mozart,  Jennie  Lind,  Bethoven,  Patti,  Wagner, 
awakened  music's  witching  spell,  while  Zoroyaster,  Guatama, 
Confucious,  Keshab,  Chunder  Sen,  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  struck  the 
terrible,  the  true,  the  tender,  plaintive  and  pathetic  in  religion  and 
reform.  For  religion  and  reform  ever  prove  the  truth  of  the  words 
of  Jesus,  I  come  to  bring  a  sword,  but  my  peace  I  leave  with  you. 
These  and  many,  many  others  have  struck  the  keynotes,  and  given 
character  to  the  greatest  principles  of  life.  The  heroes  and  inven- 
tors of  arts,  and  expounders  of  science  and  philosophy  are  quite  as 
worthy  of  admiration  and  reverence  as  are  the  heroes  of  blood  and 
battles.  They,  too,  have  had  their  moral  and  mental  battle-fields 
covered  with  slain,  fears,  doubts  and  superstitions  e'er  they  heard 
the  welcome  music  of  victory. 

I  would  say,  in  conclusion,  let  every  child  study  music,  even 
though  in  this  branch  no  special  success  attend  him,  it  may 
awaken  the  mind  to  some  branch  in  which  is  success.  And  the 
mind  awakened  to  a  love  and  appreciation  of  the  aesthetic  is  being 
led  to  a  knowledge  of  God.  For  such  'is  the  mission  of  the  aesthetic, 
and  these  inspirations  prove  His  presence.  Many  begin  music  and 
after  a  time  drop  it,  believing  they  have  failed.  Not  so.  Though 
the  recording  angel  has  an  immense  book  of  good  beginnings 
somewhere,  which  we  will  all  have  to  help  square  up  sometime, 
somehow,  yet  my  faith  tells  me  that  these  unfulfilled  records 
may  be  counterbalanced  by  another  of  good  endings  where  we 
started  in  one  path  and  came  out  in  another,  and  better  one.  To 
cultivate  the  aesthetic  makes  youth  bright  and  beautiful,  the  prime 
of  life  more  glorious,  and  is  a  fund  of  pure  knowledge  and  faith 
from  which  age  may  draw,  as  the  life-notes  lose  their  gay  appo- 
giaturas,  trills  and  runs,  and  retard  slower  and  slower,  and  at  last 
stop  altogether  as  the  inharmonious  discord  of  death  breaks  in — 
just  as  a  prelude  to  the  wondrous  psalm  of  eternal  life.  Ah,  Py- 
thagoras, there  is  the  firm  foundation  of  truth  in  thy  wise  philoso- 
phy, for  truly  when  the  final  chord  of  peace  is  struck  it  is  not  lost  or 
stilled  in  eternal  silence,  but  swells  the  harmony  of  the  music  of 
the  spheres. 


H4£ 
(M7 


809          England,    Olive  S. 

EITG 

CreserA  Harvest  Home 
Festival  and  Other  Poems 
Essay,  etc. 

Gretna  Senior  Cenrei 

606  SEVENTH  STREET 
GRETNAfLA     700W 


